


Gigolo

by kikkimax



Category: NCIS
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, Gen, Homophobic Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 10:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18179228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikkimax/pseuds/kikkimax
Summary: A dead marine in an Armani suit means someone is going undercover in a house of ill repute.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is as old as I am. Almost ;}

“Escort service," Tony insisted passing the thick folder full of borrowed surveillance stills to Kate.

"What makes you so sure?"

Tony counted off on his fingers. " _One_ : the parade of limousines filled with: _two_ : wealthy older ladies who leave with: _three_ : the young men who seem to live at the mansion. And the piece de resistance: _four_ : the men return a few hours later, or in some cases a few days, alone, by cab. You do the math."

"Maybe," Kate allowed, keeping an edge of skepticism in her tone. "It just seems so sordid."

"Would you be happier if the gender roles were reversed?" McGee asked earnestly, eliciting a grin of approval from Tony.

"No," Kate sighed. "So, what are you saying? You think Private Edmunds decided to dump the Corp for life as a gigolo?"

"More money," Tony guessed. "Certainly, better fringe benefits."

"I don’t know about that," Gibbs disagreed with a smirk. "Why would anyone rather sit around a pool all day than slog through a swamp with a forty-pound ruck on his back?"

"Spoken like a true jarhead," Kate teased.

Tony laughed as he tugged the folder out of Kate’s hand and slid it across Gibbs’ desk. "Well, at least Marines get combat pay. Did you get a gander at some of these old battle axes?"

"Tony!"

"I’m just saying, Kate," Tony tried to smooth her ruffled feathers, "It would be like kissing your grandmother."

"Get back to the case," Gibbs ordered as he opened the folder for another look. "Spell it out. What exactly have we got?"

"A UA Marine in an Armani suit floating face down in the river," McGee provided succinctly.

"And absolutely nothing that connects him to this place except a bad FBI surveillance photo that might or might not be him entering the back gate the day he went missing," Kate pointed out. "Certainly not enough for a search warrant. And as far as we know his death could have been an accident."

"You think he went to a yacht party and took a header over the rail when no one was looking?" Tony asked.

Kate shrugged in response.  "It’s possible."

"I’m afraid not, my dear," Ducky said with a sigh as he joined the group. "The cause of our young man’s demise was blunt force trauma to the back of the head. There were three distinct blows with an as yet unidentified object."

"So, murder, then."

"Uh, yeah. Unless he fell on his head three times," Tony mocked, earning an elbow to the gut before Kate went back to her desk. "Ooof."

"All right," Gibbs said as he got up. "We’ll check out, what’s the name of the place? The Fontaine Estate?"

"That’s right."

"Okay, Kate, you’re with me. DiNozzo, toss Edmunds’ bunk then talk to his buddies and see if they know anything."

"On it, Boss."

"What about me?" McGee asked.

"Get with Abby and clean up those stills. And while you’re at it try to ID some of those other men."

"You think there might be more Marines in the mix?" Kate questioned.

"I don’t know, Kate, that’s why McGee is going to check it out," Gibbs replied as he checked his weapon. "Now, DiNozzo," he added, wiping the smirk off Tony’s face and spurring him into action.

"I’m gone," Tony called over his backpack on the way out.

***

"So, the last time you saw him was Monday week?" Tony sat on crate in the work area as he made notes.  Edmunds’ squad had been curious, concerned even as he tossed the young marine’s room but certainly cooperative and more than willing to answer his questions.  Screw with one jarhead and you screw with them all.

The grunt across from him scratched the stubble on the side of his nearly shaved head, careful not to smear the camo paint on his face. "Yes sir. He didn’t show up for PT that Tuesday."

Tony glanced from face to face. "Had he ever done that before?"

"Oh yeah, he hated PT so nobody thought much of it," a younger guy explained.

"He was a goldbricker,” the lieutenant said, not pulling any punches.  “If it wasn’t one thing it was another. He spent half his time in sickbay and the other half on extra duty."

"Extra duty? Like for punishment?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. The kid was always in trouble."

"It’s safe to assume he was somewhat dissatisfied with the military life?" Tony grinned a little at the round of laughter.

"That’s an understatement. Nick only joined up because his old man pressured him into it. All he ever talked about was getting out."

"Look, man, we gotta go," the gruffest of the bunch, a sergeant, probably the squad leader said, thumbing over his shoulder towards the woods. "We’ve got an exercise in twenty minutes and we need to gear up."

"You want me to get you out of it?" Tony offered. "We can take this down to NCIS."

"Hell no!" the grunt balked. "We live for this shit. Boo-yah!"

"Boo-yah!" the others joined in enthusiastically.  The lieutenant nodded in approval.

Tony grinned and shook his head. "You guys are hard core. Go on. I’ll come back if I need anything else."

The group gathered their rucksacks and walked away but a young guy lingered. "Agent DiNozzo? Nick wasn’t a bad guy; he just wasn’t cut out for the Corp."

"Yeah?" Tony closed his notebook and got up but made an effort to keep an open expression on his face. "You’re Collins, right? Edmunds’ roommate?"

"Yes sir." The marine studied Tony seriously, his eyes unnaturally blue surrounded by the black, tan, and green paint. "Nick, he uh, he gave me a card with the name of a men’s store on it the day before he left. He said if I ever got tired of grunt work I should look him up. He said I shouldn’t tell nobody else. Do you think that might help?"

"It just might. Do you still have the card?"

Collins dug a well-worn business card out of his front pocket. "Yeah, he said to give this to someone at the front desk and they’d get me in touch with the right people."

Tony let out a low whistle as he read the card. "Yeah. I’ve heard of this place. It’s pretty high-end. Thanks."

"You gonna find out what happened to Nick?"

"Yeah," Tony promised as he pulled out his phone. "We’ll figure it out."

***

Undeterred by Gibbs’ glare the gate guard remained firm. "I’m sorry, _Sir_ ," he said for the third time, obviously not sorry at all. "This is private property. If you don’t have an appointment I can’t let you in."

"An appointment with who?"

"With whom," the guard corrected. "And if you don’t even know with whom you need the appointment, you don’t really need to see them, do you? Now please, _Sir_ , you’re blocking the drive."

"We’ll be back with a search warrant," Gibbs threatened as he pocketed his badge.

"If you had grounds for a warrant, you’d have one already," the guard assured, unmoved. "Have a nice day. _Sir_."

Gibbs threw the car into reverse. "Don’t call me S _ir_ ," he grumbled as he rapidly backed out of the drive onto the road.

"Wow. Talk about a military bearing. Ex-marine?" Kate asked, glancing over her shoulder at the burly guard as they sped away.

"Army."

"How do you know?"

"Special Forces tat on his forearm," Gibbs supplied gruffly as he waved to the FBI agents in the non-descript car parked across the street. He faked a smile as they took his picture then floored the sedan to go around a slow-moving pick-up truck.

Kate grabbed the dash with both hands. "There’s got to be a way in." She gasped as they swerved back into their own lane to avoid a white stretch limousine coming from the other direction.

Gibbs slowed the car to a crawl to watch in the rearview mirror as the limo pulled into the drive. The driver of the pick-up slammed on his breaks then honked his horned and gave them the finger as he maneuvered around them. Gibbs ignored the gesture and nodded to himself as the limo stopped only briefly before disappearing through the gate.

"Oh, there’s a way in," Gibb said. "We just need to figure out _with whom_ to make an appointment." He took off again at top speed ending up right on the pickup’s tailgate within seconds.

"You know Gibbs, sometimes there’s a good reason for road rage," Kate observed as she clenched her eyelids and held on.

"Damn right there is," Gibbs agreed. His cell rang as he flew around the truck in his way for the second time. "Get that," he ordered, tossing Kate the phone.

Kate opened her eyes and scrambled for it. "Hello?"

_"Let me guess, Gibbs is in a hurry."_

"You can tell that from one word, DiNozzo?"

_"Well you sound a little stressed there, Katie. And you are answering Gibbs’ phone. Did you learn anything at the Fontaine Estate?"_

"Are you kidding? We didn’t even get past the gate."

_"Oh. Are you still in Fairfax?"_

"Yeah, but we’re headed back to the office now."

_"There’s a place you might want to check out while you’re there. It’s a men’s boutique called “Suitably Impressed”. Edmunds told his bunk mate if he ever needed to get in touch with him to go there."_

"Do you have the address?"

_"Yeah. Abby should be able to pull up directions for you."_

***

McGee unconsciously bounced his head in time to the blaring music as his fingers beat out their own rhythm on the keyboard. Looking up he noticed Abby on the phone in her office. "What’s up?" he asked loudly when she finally came back to the lab.

"Tony located Edmunds’ contact in Fairfax," Abby shouted in return. "Gibbs and Kate are going to check it out. Did you find anything?"

I’m still running the facial recognition software but I did get a hit on the FBI’s database. This guy," he said pointing out a nearly naked young man stretched out on chaise lounge by the pool. "Ian Lane."

"Mmm," Abby approved. "Pretty."

"You mean petty. As in thief. He’s already done a nickel at FSP in Arizona on some breaking and entering charges in his late teens and recently became a person of interest to the FBI."

"For what?"

"I can’t seem to find out exactly. It’s classified. But he’s probably the reason they put the place under surveillance."

"Gah. He’s just a baby. How old is he?"

"Twenty-six."

"They all look so young," Abby agreed as she flicked through the printouts for the third time, stopping to admire a particularly buff guy in a yellow Speedo.

"It’s a sock," McGee huffed to himself as he turned back to his monitor but Abby couldn’t hear him for the music.

***

"This the place?" Gibbs asked as he pulled in next to the curb.

"Yep. Suitably Impressed."

Gibbs wrinkled his nose as he stared at the fashionably dressed art deco mannequins in the front window. "What kind of man would shop here?"

"Tony would," Kate said.

"Yeah, he would," Gibbs agreed with a snort. "Let’s go."

They got out of the car and entered the shop through the front door. "Can I help you?" a snooty older lady asked from behind the counter as soon as the bell rang.

"Special Agents Gibbs and Todd," Gibbs told her as he flashed his badge.

"NCIS."

"NCIS?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Yes?" She looked unimpressed.

"Have you seen this man?" Kate asked, holding up Private Edmunds’ service photo.

"Young lady," the woman sneered. "I assure you, men such as _that_ don’t shop _here_ ."

"What kind of men _do_ shop here?" Gibbs asked.

"Men with taste." The woman cast a disparaging glance at Gibbs’ chinos.

Gibbs treated her to an indifferent stare.  "The Fontaine Estate isn’t far from here. There seem to be a lot of men with taste residing there. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Did you find anything at the boutique?" Tony asked as Kate and Gibbs filed back to their respective desks and put away their weapons.

"Boutique?" Gibbs asked acerbically.

"Specialty men’s store?" Tony amended without blinking.

"What’s so special about it? Besides a bunch of overpriced, sissy clothes?"

"I wouldn’t know," Tony denied, turning to Kate instead. "Did you find anything?"

"Well the manager was very evasive. I definitely think she was hiding something."

"Oh, yeah," Gibbs concurred. "There’s a connection somewhere between that store and the estate. Tony, I want you to find out everything you can about…"

"Well the estate has been in Julius Fontaine’s family for two generations," Tony said smugly as he clicked the remote. A picture of the main house appeared on the flat screen sans half-naked young men. "Julius, an only child, married late in life and never had any children thus ending the Fontaine blood line.”

"Is that what’s going to happen to the DiNozzo blood line?" Abby baited as she followed McGee to his desk.

"No." Tony grinned back at her. "But I do plan on delaying the inevitable as long as possible."

"Who knows how many little DiNozzos are out there already," Kate teased.

Tony growled back at her playfully. "Bite your tongue, woman." At Gibbs’ glare he turned back to the screen and picked up where he left off without missing a beat. "Julius died a year and a half ago at the ripe old age of eighty-three leaving everything to his relatively young wife, Elizabeth."

"Tony!" Kate objected when with a flick of his wrist he put up a faded photo of a scantily clad Las Vegas show girl.

"Meet Janie Beth Burger. This was taken sometime in the late seventies. She was an up and coming dancer until an ACL injury and a quack orthopedist side-lined her career. Fast forward a couple of years.  After several arrests for prostitution Janie Beth moved east. She eventually showed up in Boston where she had a long hospital stay after getting the crap beat out of her by either her pimp or a disgruntled John."

"Which?" Gibbs asked.

"Don’t know. According to the police report she changed her story a dozen times before dropping it altogether. So probably the pimp."

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

"I’m getting there, Boss. You need the back-story to really appreciate the information. Have patience."

Kate harrumphed quietly.

"The next time Miss Burger is arrested is in Baltimore. By now she’s the widow of retired Navy Commander named James Moore who was killed in a freak but very public boating accident only months after the wedding. And this particular arrest was not for prostitution but for _promoting_ prostitution."

"She became a madam," McGee guessed.

"Give the Probie a cookie."

"A madam with two rich, dead husbands," Gibbs said.

"Three," Tony corrected. "She was also briefly married to a Richard Culpepper, only thirty-five years her senior. Each husband was richer and in worse health than the last. But she only seems to run houses between husbands, never concurrently."

"Black widow," Kate muttered.

Tony shrugged. "Culpepper had severe emphysema, Fontaine heart disease. But Elizabeth, as she now calls herself, was sole heir in all three cases."

"How much money are we talking?" Gibbs questioned.

"A lot." Tony clicked the remote again and brought up a beautiful, sophisticated woman of undetermined age.

"She’s had some work done," Kate observed wryly.

"Ya think?"

"I suspect if you pulled one suture her whole body would fall apart," Tony said with a smirk. "One more face lift and her ears are gonna meet at the back of her head. If she…"

"We get it, Tony."

"So why is she still working?" McGee asked reasonably. "I mean why risk jail time with all that money?"

"Once a working girl always a working girl?" Abby postulated.

"Who knows," Tony said as he hit the remote one more time and settled on the edge of his desk. "But it’s probably the same reason she owns a men’s boutique. Store. Whatever."

"Impressive," Kate grinned as she recognized the shop.

"So, the question is, has she always had male prostitutes?" Abby asked with a leer.

"Nope. It looks like she’s found a new niche for herself."

"Killing Marines?" Gibbs asked.

"Well she’s certainly cold hearted enough," Kate huffed. "But why recruit him if she’s going to turn around and kill him?"

"That’s what we’re going to find out. McGee? You ID any more of our boy toys?"

"We did. We used the facial recognition program to compare recent UA servicemen to the surveillance photos but came up empty. However, we did get a couple hits from local law enforcement and the FBI databank." McGee typed on his keyboard then caught the remote Tony tossed him. "Joshua Caster, small time hood," he identified a blond man in a yellow bathing suit.

"Big time banana hammock," Abby added, grinning ear to ear at Gibbs’ double take.

"I wonder if they have to pay extra for _that_?" Tony joked. "He should have gone into porn instead."

"It’s a sock," McGee muttered before moving on to the next picture. "Ian Lane also has a record."

"McGee thinks Ian is the reason the FBI is permanently parked across the street from the mansion but they won’t confirm or deny our suspicions. And I did a few more photo enhancements. It’s _not_ a sock." Abby took over the remote and made a slideshow of the sunbathing young men.

Gibbs moved closer to the screen as the hard bodies flashed by. "I don’t think Mrs. Fontaine is going to give us an appointment."

"We could send Tony on a shopping spree," Kate suggested.

"The store’s just the jumping off point," Gibbs argued. "We’re not going to learn anything there. We need someone inside the mansion."

"Undercover?" Tony asked as he whisked out the calling card Collins had given him and held it up between two fingers. "I am so up for this, Boss."

McGee bristled visibly. "Why Tony?" he demanded as he stood up.

"Because Kate doesn’t have the right equipment," Tony deadpanned.

"Why not Tony?" Gibbs asked, turning his attention to McGee.

McGee only hesitated briefly before squaring his chin and answering.  "He’s too old."

"I’m too _what?!_ ” Tony sputtered indignantly.  “How do you figure that, Probie?"

"These men are early to mid-twenties," McGee stood his ground. "You, uh, aren’t."

"And you think you can pass for a gigolo?"

"Easier than you can pass for twenty-five."

"Boss," Tony pleaded, cocking his head to the side in disbelief as he pointed with both hands at the object of his disdain. "You can’t seriously be considering sending in the Probie."

"I’ve got to learn some time," McGee stood his ground.

"Tim, this woman might very well be capable of murder," Kate put in worriedly.

"And she could murder Tony just as easily as she could me."

"This is what I do, McGee,” Tony explained in a plaintive tone just short of angry. “Im not going to make some rookie mistake and get myself killed. And you don’t ever see me trying to out-geek you on the computer."

"Like you could," McGee scoffed.

"Enough!"

"Boss," Tony threw in once more, gesturing emphatically between himself and McGee.

"Do you think you’re ready for undercover work, McGee?" Gibbs queried while glaring at Tony until he dropped his defiant gaze. "That’s not why I hired you, you know."

"Am I a real field agent?" McGee asked softly. "Or am I just the office geek? If I am a real agent then I need to expand my experience."

"Point taken," Gibbs granted. "I agree.  DiNozzo."

"Yeah, Boss," Tony answered in resignation.

"I’m putting him in your hands. Go somewhere quiet and show him the ropes. We’ll attempt to send him in in the morning."

Tony nodded solemnly as he caught McGee’s eye. "Let’s go, Probalicious."

"Where?" McGee asked excitedly as he shut down his computer and gathered his things.

"My place," Tony replied with a sigh as he shouldered his pack. "It’s gonna be a long night."

"Thanks, Tony. Boss."

"If you get yourself killed, I will kick your ass," Gibbs warned.

"Go get ‘em, McGee," Abby cheered as Tony led the way to the elevator.

Kate turned to Gibbs as soon as the doors slid closed behind them. "Are you sure about this?"

"McGee’s right, he’s got to learn some time."

"Yeah, but DiNozzo?"

"Tony’ll teach him right," Abby stated matter-of-factly.

"DiNozzo is the best undercover agent I’ve ever worked with," Gibbs agreed. “And don’t either of you ever repeat that, understood?"

“Aye, aye, Gibbs,” Abby said with a giggle and a salute.

Kate just rolled her eyes.  “Like I’d ever tell DiNozzo something like that.  His ego’s through the roof as it is.”

***

McGee checked his watch. It was already late and he didn’t feel like they were getting anywhere. "Maybe I’m not going to be any good at this."

"You’re fine. You just need to work on your story."  Tony sounded tired but he was being more patient than McGee ever would have imagined.

"I’m sorry, I guess I’m just not a very good liar."

Throwing an arm over his eyes Tony sprawled back on the couch. "Don’t think of it as lying. Think of it as play acting."

"Play acting."

"Yeah. Haven’t you ever wanted to be someone else for a little while?"

"Sure," McGee admitted as he stopped his pacing and sat on the edge of the coffee table. "But I’m surprised you have."

"Why?" Tony asked with an almost bitter sounding little laugh.

"I don’t know. Rich kid. Good looking. Jock. You’ve always had it all."

Tony rubbed his face and sat back up, taking a minute to study him before speaking. "All true.  But that’s a long way from “it all”," he finally replied cryptically. "Tell me again, what’s your name?"

"Timothy McGuire. Are you _sure_ it shouldn’t it be more different?"

"You need something you’re going to remember. Besides, I’ve already got Abby working on your documentation. It’s too late to change it now."

"Right. I’m Timothy McGuire, a computer programmer from Boston. I graduated from MIT in…" McGee trailed off thoughtfully.

"What now?" Tony asked as he picked up a discarded box of fried rice and picked through it with a fork.

McGee bit his lip before blurting it out.  "If I’m going to be someone else couldn’t I be something more exciting?"

"More exciting than a NCIS agent? I don’t think there is such a thing."

"You know what I mean."

"What do you want to be?" Tony asked distractedly as he sniffed a morsel of shrimp before shoving it into his mouth.

McGee thought about it for a minute. "A racecar driver."

"A racecar driver who had a bad wreck that ended his driving days and is now desperate enough for money to do anything?"

"Yeah!"

Dropping the fork in the carton Tony chunked the whole thing in the direction of the coffee table and leaned back again to regard McGee gravely. "Do you know _anything_ about race cars?"

"Well, no,” McGee had to admit.  “Not really."

"Huh.  Imagine that.  Do you know anything about, say, computers?"

Comprehension dawned swiftly and completely. "Oh. Oh, I get it. In case anyone asks me questions. If I know what I’m talking about I won’t blow my cover. It’s like writing. Write what you know."

Tony smiled. "Don't go overboard with the background. If you want to experiment do it with the personality. You can _be_ whoever you want to be, act any way you want to act. Dangerous, wild, kinky. Pick out somebody you admire and emulate their personality. Just keep it within the realm of what you know. Be Gibbs. But be Gibbs as a computer programmer.  If that’s even remotely possible," he added, shaking his head to clear the mental image.

"Why didn’t you just tell me that?" McGee sighed in exasperation. "Why’d you let me waste all this time arguing with you about every little thing?"

"Because you wouldn’t have listened to me until you figured it out for yourself, Grasshopper. Be glad. You just got over a huge hurdle."

"Yeah," McGee agreed. "I did. You wanna call it a night?"

"Not yet."

"Oh. Can we just cut to the part where you give me good advice and I promise to listen?"

"We can try."

"Okay. What are the three best pieces of advice you can give me about going undercover?"

"Relax. Play the part close to home. Don’t lose yourself in the character," Tony counted off without even having to think about it.

"Is that possible? Did you ever do that? Lose yourself?"

Tony shook his head no. "Yeah," he finally said. "A little."

"Really?  Which time?"

"Every time."

McGee started for a minute, opened his mouth and then closed it.  "Oh,” he finally said.  “So what do you do?  I mean after you come home."

"You’ll have to figure that part out for yourself," Tony answered, not unkindly. "Now. Let’s start from the top, one more time…"

***

The tiny men’s store was upscale and pristine with an almost sanitized feel to it. McGee felt out of place as soon as he entered, cursing himself for jumping at the sound of the door chime. Both women at the counter looked up. The pretty but plump salesgirl smiled a very practiced smile but the older, thinner woman whose very bearing screamed “manager” gave him a once over that told him exactly what she thought of him and his cheap suit. He tried not to cringe as he approached them.

"Good afternoon," the girl said by rote.

"Good afternoon." McGee returned formally then took a shaky breath as he handed over the business card.

The manager snatched the card from his hand and harrumphed on cue. " _You_ are here to see Mrs. Fontaine?" she questioned with a disbelieving smirk.

"Yes. I’m Timothy Mc, uh, McGuire."

She harrumphed again then disappeared behind a curtain, taking the card with her. Her pointy toed high heels clicked on the hardwood floor in the back hall until she slammed what McGee surmised to be an office door.

The girl, however, regarded him with a newfound respect. This time the smile was genuine if a little predatory as she checked him out. McGee tried not to squirm under the scrutiny.

_"McGee!"_ Tony’s stage whisper echoed in his ear. _"Cough if you’re okay in there."_

Covering his mouth with a fist McGee coughed once as requested.

_"Okay. Good job. You’re doing great."_

The unanticipated praise helped to steady his nerves, more in fact than McGee would ever care to admit to either himself or Tony. Feeling bolder, he propped an elbow on the counter and returned the smile. Much to his surprise the salesgirl leaned closer to him as well.

"You want to work for Mrs. Fontaine. Do you have any experience in that line of work?"

"Maybe," McGee replied, getting into character and going for sultry.

_"That’s it, Probie. You’re a bad, bad boy,"_ Tony teased in his ear, all but ruining the moment.

Just as well, McGee thought as the pinched-faced woman returned. "Mrs. Fontaine will arrive within the hour. Don’t think she’s coming in just to see you, she was already in route."

_"Tell Agatha there to kiss your ass,"_ Tony advised, sounding a little peeved on his student’s behalf.

"I see," McGee said neutrally instead.

The old woman’s posture softened slightly but the condescending attitude remained. "I hate to discourage you, my dear, but you don’t seem the type."

Tony snorted. _"The type?"_

"The type?" McGee repeated in the same offended tone.

"You seem like a nice boy."

Remembering Tony’s coaching McGee narrowed his eyes and reached out to finger the scarf around her neck. "Well I’m not," he said huskily. Tony’s approving cackle almost undid him as “Agatha” smacked his hand before marching back to her office and once again slamming the door.

The girl’s eyes sparkled with humor. "Why don’t you look around while you wait?" she suggested, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice just in case “Agatha” was listening. "If you need anything just give me a call. I’m Emma."

"Emma," McGee repeated with a wink and a combination finger-snap/point, secure in the knowledge Tony would never know he was emulating him. The front bell rang and another customer came in requesting assistance.

"Agatha?" McGee questioned under his breath as he moved further into the store. "I’ll admit it’s appropriate but you didn’t even see her."

Tony chuckled. _"What can I say? My witch detector was set to audio."_

McGee took a good, long look around and sighed expansively. "What am I supposed to do in here for an hour?" he asked.

_"I don’t know. Uh, shop?"_ Even though the voice was tinny the sarcasm came through loud and clear. Still feeling the glow of Tony’s earlier approval McGee chose to ignore it.

"For a whole hour?"

_"Try something on, Probie. God knows you could use a new suit."_

"Tony, I can’t afford the shoelaces in this place." When he saw a rack of overpriced sport coats, he wandered over for a better look anyway.

_"Consider it a learning experience. And stop talking to yourself before Agatha calls the cops to haul you off to the loony bin."_

_"Kill the chatter,"_ Gibbs’ voice suddenly and rather loudly cut in.

McGee winced and fought the urge to rub his ear.

_"Big brother is listening,"_ Abby chimed in as well.

McGee shut up and let Tony take the heat.

_"Hey, Boss,"_ Tony greeted cheerfully, shrugging off the reprimand in his usual way, the way that both irritated McGee and made him green with envy.

_"Give me a sit rep."_

Spotting a nice salt and pepper jacket McGee ran his hand along the shoulders until he located one in his size as Tony gave a colorful rundown of their morning activities prior to arrival at the shop. In spite of the daunting price tag he took off his own coat to try it on.

_"Then the sales lady turned our little bull loose in the china shop to cool his heels. Madame Fontaine agreed to meet him in about an…"_

As he pulled the jacket up unto his shoulders McGee felt the receiver in his ear slip. At the same time Tony’s voice fell away. There was a dull ping as the earpiece hit the floor and bounced out of sight under a nearby rack. McGee stared after it in horror. Several minutes later when he still hadn’t found the device between the racks he glanced around furtively before fishing a handful of change out of his pocket. The coins rained down with a satisfactory clatter.

"Timothy? Is everything okay?" Emma called, craning her neck around a display to check out the noise.

"I’m fine. I just dropped some quarters," McGee explained, hoping Tony could still hear him as well as he bent down to look under the fixtures.

"Can I help?"

"No thank you. I’ve got it."

Getting down on hands and knees McGee gathered the coins absently as he looked for the tell-tale piece of equipment. A few moments later his forward momentum stopped abruptly when he encountered expensive and pointy toes. He grimaced, certain he should have heard her coming in those shoes.

“Agatha” glared as he brought his gaze up to her face. "Mrs. Fontaine will not be pleased," she hissed.

McGee swallowed involuntarily then scowled back at her for sneaking up on him. After another minute of the mute standoff she huffed and noisily stalked away leaving him alone to continue his awkward search.

When he was sure she was gone and Emma was once again out of earshot he reported in. "I can’t hear you anymore, Tony. My ear piece fell out. I’ll continue to wait for Mrs. Fontaine unless I get word otherwise."


	3. Chapter 3

"Clear your throat if you’re okay, McGee. McGee!" Tony tried again as he trained his binoculars uselessly on the front of the shop. "Sorry, Boss, he’s not responding and I don’t have a visual. I’m still picking up latent noises though. There are distant voices but I can’t make out what they’re saying past the heavy breathing."

_"We copy that, too,"_ Gibbs acknowledged.

_"I’m fine. I just dropped some quarters."_

"There he is."

_"There’s probably just something wrong with his earwig,"_ Abby guessed in a hopeful but worried tone.

"I think you’re right," Tony agreed. "It’s probably nothing."

_"No thank you. I’ve got it."_

"He sounds okay but like I said, he’s not responding and I do _not_ have a visual. What do you want me to do, Boss?"

Gibbs hesitated only a second. _"Get in there, DiNozzo."_

"I’m on it." Tony checked his gun just in case then got out of the car.

_"Take care of him, Tony,"_ Abby pleaded.

"He’ll be fine, Abs," Tony assured, looking both ways as he trotted across the street. He stopped just outside the door and straightened his collar as he cast an assessing gaze inside.

"Ding dong," he parroted the door chime giving Gibbs and Abby a running commentary as he moved through the store, not wasting any time. "Hello," he greeted the young clerk as he passed her, quickly threat assessing the older gentleman she was helping. "Nice lady. Old coot."

He exchanged glances with an older woman as she stormed past him. "That had to be Agatha," he reported, rounding a rack of sport coats and spotted McGee on the floor. "Oh, and there’s our boy. On his knees no less."

"I can’t hear you anymore, Tony. My ear piece fell out. I’ll continue to wait for Mrs. Fontaine unless I get word otherwise."

"Can you hear me now?" Tony asked as he approached. He hid his relief by pretending to admire the folded sweaters displayed on a tiered table. McGee froze in place then looked up over his shoulder. He looked strickened.

"Lose something?" Tony just had to ask.

"I dropped my ear piece," McGee admitted irritably as he continued his search.

"False alarm, he dropped it," Tony reported with a shake of his head before turning back to McGee. "Find it, Probie."

_"Get him straightened out then get the hell out of there,"_ Gibbs ordered.

"Working on it, Boss. Boss?"

_"He left,"_ Abby explained. _"But you’ve still got me. I’ve just got to do a couple other things but I’ll be around. Okay?"_

"Sure, Abs. We’ve got it under control." Tony motioned to McGee to get busy then perused the sweaters some more as the location gave him a clear view of the front of the shop.

With a lookout in place McGee moved with more purpose, sweeping under the racks with his hand. "Find it, Probie," he grumbled to himself. "What does it look like I’m trying to do?"

"You do know I can hear you, right?" Tony reminded without looking up.

"Sorry. Oh wait! Found it," McGee held up the earpiece triumphantly but his glee vanished as he got to his feet.

"What?" Tony asked, walking over to help dust him off.

_"What what?"_ Abby asked. _"What’s going on, guys? I had a whoop on my mass spec."_

McGee sighed forlornly. "I blew it."

"You didn’t blow _it_ ," Tony soothed. "Technically, _it_ hasn’t even happened yet."

"No, no. I did. I messed up my equipment and screwed up my first…”

Tony slapped his palm over McGee’s mouth. "That could have happened to anyone, McGee. Capisce?" He waited for McGee to nod before removing his hand.

"Did it ever happen to you?" McGee asked sheepishly, brushing imaginary lint off the sports coat he was still wearing.

"No." Tony frowned as he examined the jacket. "Tweed? McGee? Congratulations. You managed to find the only thing in the whole store that makes you look like a college professor. You ever think of trying something new?"

"Like what?" McGee looked dubious but followed as Tony went straight to the suits on the back wall. "Tony, I have suits."

"These aren’t polyester." Tony hummed tunelessly for effect as he chose a pale grey linen jacket and pulled it out to hold under McGee’s chin. "Try this."

McGee made a face. "Too light, I stain things. How about black?"

"Not everyone can pull off black."

" _You_ wear black all the time," McGee argued.

" _I_ look great in black."

"Black is slimming."

"So are sit-ups." Tony put the jacket back and selected a charcoal one. "This is dark enough. Put it on."

"Is it wool?" McGee asked as he felt the material suspiciously. "I’m allergic to wool."

Tony sputtered. "McGee! Tweed is wool."

"No, it’s not.  It’s flax?  Right?"

"Flax? No flax is… I don’t know what flax is but tweed is definitely wool. Besides, this is a blend. You’ll be fine," Tony insisted, losing patience and thrusting the jacket into McGee’s hands.

_“Listen to him, McGee. Tony knows clothes. Crap. I’ll be right back, I’ve got another whoop. Yell loud if you need me, this might take a minute."_

McGee didn’t look happy as he took off the tweed one, which Tony tossed haphazardly over another rack, and slipped into the charcoal one. "It’s too big," he complained even as he pulled it on.

"It’s not too big. You need a little room in the shoulders."

"Tony, it’s too big." McGee proved his point by holding up a mostly covered hand.

"That’s what alterations are for, _Timothy_ ," Tony growled as he propelled McGee toward the triple mirror in the corner next to a red velvet settee. He expertly folded the cuffs under then pinched the back at the waist slightly on both sides. "There."

"Wow," McGee breathed. "This is… yeah."

"Yeah. If you get it altered it doesn’t look like you bought it off the rack, but you don’t have to pay an arm and a leg for it." Tony grinned as he checked his watch. "Look, I gotta get out of here. Secure your earpiece."

"Got it," McGee said as he replaced the receiver in his ear.

"Can you hear me?" Tony asked.

"Yeah."

Tony patted McGee’s back then turned to leave. "Don’t lose it again."

"Tony, wait. What do I do?" McGee asked nervously.

"Just ask to see the tailor.”

"No. I mean when Mrs. Fontaine gets here."

Tony stopped and studied him for a second.  "You know what to do. Don’t let that little mishap throw your confidence. You can do it, you had a great teacher."

"I know. But I’m drawing a blank right now. What am I suppose say? I’m not sure about the _female_ part.  What is she’s not interested in me?"

"The female part?"

McGee’s cheeks flushed red.  "You know, like how to act, what to say."

Tony came back and put one hand on each of McGee’s shoulders. "We talked about this.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t really work out so well on Agatha.”

“Agatha’s a freak of nature.  Forget her.  Just be yourself," he started then stopped. "No, that won’t work. Just, ah, I know! Be me. Leer a little. When you check her out be obvious about it."

"I can’t do that!" McGee balked, trying to break away while Tony held firm.

"Sure you can. It’s easy. Just think dirty thoughts."

"That’s going against everything I was ever taught. Women want to be respected."

Tony shrugged. "Well you can try that if you want but what women _really_ want is to be desired."

"Desired?"

"Yes. It’s especially true of older women."

"Is that right?" A cultured female voice asked from behind.

Tony felt his eyes widened but by the time he squeezed McGee’s shoulders and turned around all evidence of his surprise was gone. "Isn’t it?" he asked with a cocky grin as he let his gaze wander up and down the elegantly dressed Madame Fontaine.

She appeared impassive as he assessed her but she couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of her eyes. "There might be some truth to that," she allowed. "I’m Elizabeth Fontaine. You must be Timothy."

"Ah, no.  Actually, _this_ is Timothy," Tony said as he pushed McGee forward. "I’m just here to offer my young friend…"

"Bad advice?"  Elizabeth interrupted with a ghost of a smile.

Tony grinned wider and pointed a finger at her playfully. "That’s good. But I was going to say moral support."

"Uh huh. And you are?"

"Leaving," Tony replied, inclining his head to her before thumping a visibly shaken McGee on the shoulder as he made his getaway. "Good luck."

"Thanks, Tony."

"Not so fast, _Tony_." Elizabeth cut off his retreat with a flick of her hand. "I know you’d like Timothy’s interview to go well. Wouldn’t you? After all you did show up to offer, what was it again?  Moral support?”

Tony stopped at the subtle threat but didn’t turn around as he counted the ways Gibbs was going to kill him. "Of course."

“Then please, do stay. I’d love to hear more about what older women _really_ want."

"I’d like that," Tony said, finally turning to favor her with one of his special smiles.

"Miss Janette, would you escort this gentleman to my office?" Elizabeth requested without raising her voice.

Agatha appeared almost immediately. "This way Mister?"

"Wright," Tony provided smoothly.

"Mister Right?" Elizabeth asked with a startled laugh.

"That’s Wright.  With a W."

Agatha rolled her eyes. "This way."

"After you, Miss Janette." Tony caught McGee’s eye as he ushered Agatha away.  He could hear McGee’s breath hitch up a notch as they walked away even without the earwig.

***

"Timothy," Elizabeth purred as she rounded on McGee as soon as Tony was out of sight.

"Yes, Timothy McGuire."

"Shush."

"I’m sorry?" McGee asked in confusion.

"Zip it. I do the talking." Elizabeth walked around him reaching out right away to palm a butt cheek. McGee jumped. "Janette warned me not to expect too much. In fact, she thinks you’re an idiot."

"I… I…"

"What part of shut up do you not understand?"

McGee held his tongue as Elizabeth continued to circle him slowly, taking in his body from every angle, poking and prodding as she went. It was a little surreal as he listened to Abby’s occasional remark and Tony’s stilted conversation with Agatha.

"You’re not exactly what I’m looking for but I am shorthanded at the moment. Who knows, with a little work you might do for some of the older Blue Hairs.”  She stopped in front of him.  “Who gave you my card? You may speak now."

Feeling somewhat humiliated, McGee cleared his throat.  "Tony got it for me," he mumbled.

"Tony Wright," Elizabeth tried out the name.  “Anthony, I suppose.”

"I guess.  Look, I’m not sure if that’s even his real name," McGee hedged, making it up as he went and praying Tony was paying attention. "I met him at a... a bar. I’ve been letting him sleep on my couch for the last week or so."

"Do you always pick up strange men in bars?"  Elizabeth smiled wickedly, obviously enjoying his discomfort.  

"No!" McGee blinked in exasperation then tried to find a reasonable explanation. "Tony can be very, uh, personable."

Elizabeth snorted as she circled him again. "I’ll just bet he can, especially when he wants something. Are you deaf?"

Caught off guard McGee turned his head too late to keep her from seeing his earwig.  "What?"

"You’re wearing a hearing-aid."

McGee nodded slowly. "I have a slight impairment. It doesn’t interfere with my life," he covered.

Elizabeth nodded as if she understood but was no less critical.  "Your speech is very good. Except for the stutter."

"I d… don’t stutter."

"Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s rather endearing,” she soothed in an almost motherly tone that made the hair on the back of McGee’s neck stand on end as she reached out to palm his crotch in a very un-motherly fashion.  “Don’t you have a family?"

"No one I’m close to,” McGee squeaked.  He felt his ears go from red to crimson. “I haven’t been home in a long time."

"Friends?” She asked, releasing him and making another pass.  “I mean other than the delectable Mister Anthony Wright."

" _Woo hoo, Tony’s got a fan_ ," Abby teased.

McGee bit back his sarcastic retort. "Not really."

"Here. Sit down," Elizabeth urged, tugging him towards the settee. McGee sat stiffly next to her, still wearing the too big jacket. "Tell me, darling, do you even know what Anthony is trying to get you in to?"

"He said you run a brothel."

Elizabeth laughed but didn’t really seem all that amused. "How crude. I run an _escort service_ ," she told him as she ran her hand up and down the inside of his thigh.

"And that’s different how?"  McGee asked, flinching when she got a little far North for his liking.  Again.

"In this case? It’s not. But my whores are all men. Are you sure that’s what you want to be?  A whore?  You don’t seem to be all that comfortable being touched."

"I,” McGee took a deep breath and made a monumental effort to relax under her roaming hand.  “Yes, I’m sure," he affirmed.

Elizabeth smirked and stopped her all-out assault.  "Why?"

"My world isn’t a very exciting place. Not like Tony’s anyway,” McGee added, at least partially telling the truth. “There’s no one in my life. All I ever do is go to my boring job day after day then come home to an empty apartment."

"Empty except for Anthony."

"He won’t be around for long."

"Probably not," Elizabeth agreed.  “You’re smarter than you look.”

“Thanks,” McGee huffed.

“No, no.  I’m glad you see him for what he is,” Elizabeth approved, leaning back and placing an arm across the back of the settee.  “What is it about Anthony that makes you want to work for me?”

"He talks about Europe a lot. I want to see London and Paris and all those places someday, too."

"I see. So, what is this boring job you do?"

"I’m a computer programmer."

"Really?” Elizabeth drawled, suddenly showing an interest.  “Are you any good?"

"I’m _very_ good," McGee stated with a burst of real confidence.

Elizabeth smiled a much less predatory smile and patted his knee. "I may have some use for you after all, my dear."

McGee perked up.  Maybe he hadn’t blown it.  "You mean it?"

"Here’s the deal: you live in my house, by my rules.  You get to keep twenty percent of everything you make and any gifts you may receive in the line of duty.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not finished. If I find out you’re working side deals with the clients your ass won’t be worth a plug nickel. Do you understand?"

"I do."  McGee nodded eagerly.  He was in.  He couldn’t believe it, he was in.

"Oh, be careful throwing around those two little words, Timothy. They’ll get you into a lot of trouble."

 


	4. Chapter 4

As he searched the office Tony managed to keep one ear tuned to the hall while still monitoring McGee’s interview and quietly exchanging observations with Abby. No problem.

The only hard part had been getting rid of Agatha, or Aggie, as he was coming to think of her, who insisted on keeping him company. Her high and mighty attitude softened considerably once they were alone, moving unexpectedly from watchful suspicion to outright lust. Fortunately for Tony the younger clerk called for an expert opinion on Argyle socks and Agatha had to reluctantly excuse herself. But not before giving Tony a smoldering leer that left him fearful for whatever might be left of his long-lost virtue.

Even stranger, McGee seemed to be doing just fine on his own with Aggie’s boss. In fact, his bumbling came off as very authentic. Not that Tony was really all that worried. Worse come to worst the good madam would simply send the rookie on his way and Tony, twenty-five or not, could step right in. Maybe Gibbs wouldn’t kill him after all. He winced when McGee’s earwig was spotted but the kid covered well. Elizabeth was proving to be tough. She obviously didn’t miss much when it came to men. Tony made mental notes of the Probie’s mostly brilliant improvisations: bar, couch, check and check.

" _Woo hoo, Tony’s got a fan_."

Tony smiled at that as he finished with the receipt book he found next to the liquor cabinet and moved over to sit in the fancy swivel chair behind the mahogany desk. He went through the drawers and found nothing of interest except a leather-bound day planner which was apparently written in gibberish. Abby concurred that it was probably an elaborate code.

And then suddenly the deal was done. McGee was hired, sent to the tailor, and told to disrobe. The Probie complied, but only after another round of hemming and hawing accompanied by Abby’s rendition of stripper music. Tony smiled at that, too.

"Gotta go, Abs," Tony informed her quickly when he heard the rapid tap-tap of high heels coming down the hall. He stowed his own earpiece in his pocket leaving a mostly naked McGee in Abby’s capable hands.

Making no effort to hide the fact he was perusing her carefully coded book, Tony barely glanced up when Elizabeth came through the door. "Find anything interesting?" she asked, looking anything but surprised.

"Well I can’t make heads or tails of it but I’m sure it makes perfect sense to you," Tony said cheerfully. He closed the book and leaned back in her chair to make another lingering assessment as she approached him.

"Oh, believe me, darling, it does." Elizabeth moved slowly, displaying herself with a calculated combination of grace and vamp. Her sheer blouse didn’t hide much as she slipped out of her wrap and draped it on the coat rack near the door before advancing on him. She was certainly perky for a woman of her age. Implants, no doubt, but well executed. If she was going to put on a show Tony felt it was his obligation to watch. And the old girl seemed to be enjoying the game a great deal.

"Ever heard of a palm pilot? You can password protect your information, you know."

"I prefer doing things the old fashion way." Using his shoulders as leverage Elizabeth spun the chair until Tony was facing her. She then kicked off her stiletto pumps and levered her left foot right up into his crotch.

"Nimble lil minx, aren’t cha?" Tony drawled in a perfect Bill Murray imitation.

Not completely sure if the graphic display was an invitation or a dare, he responded by lifting a hand and slipping it under the hem of her skirt. She released an almost inaudible moan as he began to sketch warm circles on her surprisingly firm inner thigh with his fingertips. He kept his eyes focused on her face, trying to determine if her reaction was more than just an act.  The split second she took to look at her watch told him everything he needed to know.  Still, he played along.

"Maybe you do know what women want," Elizabeth said breathily, practiced.

"Mmm," Tony muttered as he dropped his gaze to her leg and lazily ran his hand down to her shapely ankle and back up. "What’s this?" he asked, using his thumb to trace an almost invisible scar that bisected her kneecap.

"That’s a broken heart," Elizabeth stated then pushed away from him hard enough to jab a particularly sensitive portion of his anatomy. She leaned against the edge of her desk apparently to enjoy his pain.

"So is that," Tony quipped with a grimace when he could speak again. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of adjusting himself as he got up. "I’d like to say it was a pleasure," he began, dropping the book back into the drawer and slamming it shut.

"Now don’t go away mad," Elizabeth purred, once again smooth as honey as she stood, placing herself directly in his path. "Stay. Have a drink." She motioned towards the liquor cabinet with one hand and ran the other up along the buttons on his shirt.

"I’m driving," Tony declined brusquely, pushing her hand away from his chest. He knew he would stick around long enough to confirm McGee’s story but decided to make her work for it.

"My, my," Elizabeth mocked. "What a tender little ego."

Tony narrowed his eyes as he glared at her. "At the moment it’s not my ego that’s tender."

Not taking no for an answer Elizabeth pushed him firmly until he gave in and sat back in her chair. "Ice?" she asked brightly as she made her way over to pour them both a drink.

Tony sighed and looked at the ceiling as he rocked the chair back and forth. "No, thank you."

"Such lovely manners. I wouldn’t have expected that in a cop."

Not missing a beat Tony barked out a laugh. "What makes you think I’m a cop?"

"Well you are wearing a shoulder holster and I’m sure it’s not just a fashion statement. Don’t worry; it doesn’t ruin the cut of your suit. Did you have it tailored that way?"

"Of course," Tony admitted freely. "It costs a little extra but it’s worth it."

"It’s my understanding of the law that if I ask if you’re an undercover policeman you have to tell me the truth."

"So, ask."

Elizabeth studied him for a long moment. Tony grinned back at her impudently.

"Are you?" she finally asked.

"Actually, I’m a federal agent. I was sent here to destroy your evil empire. License to kill and all that."

"Please. There’s that ego again," Elizabeth scoffed as she returned to the desk, a tumbler with two fingers of single malt in each hand. "If you’re not a cop then why do you carry a gun?"

"The world is a dangerous place," Tony answered with a shrug.

"It certainly is. So just what the hell _are_ you playing at, _Mister_ Wright?" Elizabeth asked, putting a napkin on the desk before placing his drink in front of him.

"If you will recall, _Miz_ Fontaine, I was on my way out. You invited me to stay.  In fact, you insisted."

Elizabeth took a sip of her bourbon as she perched on the edge of the desk and fished a pack of Virginia Slims out of the top drawer. "A gentleman would offer me a light," she said as she slid one out and put it in her mouth.

"I don’t smoke, it’s bad for the complexion," Tony replied, pursing his lips as he looked at her a little closer. "I guess it really does cause wrinkles."

"Fuck you," Elizabeth growled around the cigarette, suddenly more back alley than Beltway. She sat down her glass with an angry thump and dug a little deeper in the drawer before coming out with a gold-plated Zippo which she quickly put to use.

"Language," Tony scolded lightly, waving away the smoke she blew in his direction. "What do you want?"

She took a deep drag and blew it out languorously.  "What do you think I want?"

Tony cocked an eyebrow at her knowingly.

Elizabeth laughed and pointed a finely manicured hand, cigarette and all, at him. "I run a house full of young, gorgeous men that I can have my wicked way with any time I like. What makes you think you’re so special?"

"Again, let me point out I was leaving."

"And I called you back. I know."

Making a show of looking at his watch, Tony stared at her pointedly. "The sooner you tell me what you want, the sooner we can be rid of each other."

"Anthony, _darling_ ," Elizabeth sighed with exaggerated exasperation. "Don’t be such a baby. Every man needs a little pain every now and then. It’s good for the soul."

"Cut to the chase or I’m out of here."

"Okay, fine. I’d really like to know what a player like you is doing sleeping on some geek’s couch. Let me guess, you’re biding your time while between rich marks."

"You don’t know me," Tony said, making another move to get up.

Elizabeth took a final puff of her cigarette before snuffing it out. "But I _do_ know men. Let me take a crack at you."

Tony settled back, crossed his legs protectively, and steepled his fingers in front of him. "It’s your office, go ahead."

"The breeding is there," Elizabeth started thoughtfully as she lifted one leg and wriggled her foot under his thigh.  This gave him an unimpeded view up her skirt which he declined by keeping his eyes on her face. "I’m almost positive you grew up with money, you’re not faking that. But you’ve also got a little street in you; though that probably came later from experience. How am I doing so far?"

"I’ll let you know when you get off track."

"I’d say you do know women, but it’s more than that. You know _people_. You know what they like, how they respond to things, and you use that information to your best interests. Like poor dear little Timothy. Why’d you really bring him here?"

"I owe him. As you already seem to know he’s been letting me stay at his place."

"I’m not buying it."

"So?" Tony asked casually, hoping Abby could still hear things clearly enough to get McGee out if things went hinky.

"I take it you’ve seen Europe on the arms of some rather rich, perhaps older ladies?"

"It’s not a crime to accept hospitality."

"You’re a gigolo."

"Yeah.  And again, I ask, so?" Tony removed her foot and pushed it towards the floor as he got up. "What I’m _not_ is a prostitute."

"You sell yourself for material goods and services, vacations, food, albeit really pricey food I’ll wager."

"Maybe. But I don’t work the line, so if you want to recruit me for your little whore house, you’re barking up the wrong tree."

"Where’d you get my card?" Elizabeth inquired hastily to his back as he headed towards the door.

"What?"

"My card? I have several recruiters who hand them out to a very select few. You don’t fit the criteria."

Tony turned back around curiously. "Why not?"

"I’m looking for diamonds in the rough so to speak. Good looking young men, but weak-minded ones."

"Guys that can be manipulated," Tony said.

"Yes. Often that means low social status or corrupt natures."

"Any chance I can get a finder’s fee for bringing you Tim? With a little gym time, and a lot of polishing he could be just what you’re looking for."

"You didn’t answer my question."

"All right," Tony sighed. "I’ll throw you a bone. There was a drunk Marine in the bar the night I met Tim. He was flashing your card around, he said he’d hit the jackpot and was living the high life. Then he said he had to leave before the house mother realized he was overdue."

Elizabeth clenched her teeth in very real exasperation this time. "That idiot."

"I lifted the card when he was paying his tab. I asked around but no one seemed to know anything about you or your operation. But I had a hunch."

"And you decided to send Timothy in to find out for you."

"It wasn’t hard to convince him he needed a change of lifestyle," Tony acknowledged smugly.

"So the bit about you owing him was bullshit," Elizabeth postulated. "Now it all makes sense."

"Are we done? Because as it turns out; this has been a colossal waste of my time."

Suddenly very business-like Elizabeth rounded her desk and sat down. "I don’t think it has. We might be very good for each other, Mister Wright."

Tony took a deep breath as he made his decision. McGee would think he was trying to muscle in on his op and who knew what Gibbs would think, he could go either way depending on what Tony found out. "Convince me," he finally said as he took a seat opposite her.

***

“What’s going on, Abs?" Gibbs asked as he entered the lab and handed over a super-size Caf Pow!

Tons!" Abby exclaimed. "Do you know how hard it is to keep up with two field agents _and_ run tests at the same time? Lucky for you I can multi-task."

Gibbs turned to the blank monitor in alarm. "Two?"

"No camera, remember? Just audio."

"Tony’s still in there?"

"There were complications," Abby hedged. "But it wasn’t Tony’s fault. Well, not really."

"Why didn’t you call me?"

"You were in autopsy, and before you ask, Kate is still running down backgrounds on the people who work in the shop. Besides it’s under control. Mostly."

"Abby," Gibbs growled in frustration.

"Okay, okay, I’ll give you the Cliff Notes. Ease up, Bossman."

"Put it on speaker."

"It is."

"I can’t hear anything but McGee breathing."

"Yeah, he’s a little stressed out at the moment. I don’t think he’s ever had a real fitting before."

"Abby."

"Let’s start from the beginning," Abby suggested before launching into the tale. "Tony took the time to give McGee some wardrobe advice, and don’t yell, it was good advice. In the meantime, the black widow came in and took a shine to him."

"So DiNozzo stayed."

"Yes, but he took the opportunity to search her office."

"Did he find anything?"

"Yes and no," Abby said, cutting Gibbs off with a gesture. "He found her date book but it was in code."

"She didn’t hire McGee."

"She did. But she wants Tony, too. Oh, and she spotted McGee’s earwig but it’s okay, he told her he’s deaf in that ear."

Gibbs rubbed his forehead. "And she believed him?"

"Yeah, but she wouldn’t fall for it twice so Tony took his out. That’s why he can’t hear us and we’re having trouble hearing him. Actually, it comes and it goes, I think it depends on his position. Plus McGee’s breathing tends to get louder when he’s being measured."

"We don’t need both of them in there."

"But it’s a big house. And it _is_ McGee’s first time and security _is_ kind of tight," Abby pointed out a little anxiously, going so far as to wring her hands. "And… and that woman is just plain mean. She did something to Tony that made his voice go all squeaky for a few minutes."

"Lots of women would like to do that to Tony," Gibbs snorted with a lightning fast grin.

"But he didn’t say anything to warrant it this time. I swear, Gibbs, he didn’t do anything wrong, he was all charming and sexy and sweet. And that Agatha just sounds creepy."

"Who?"

"I think she’s the store manager, Jeanette something. Tony dubbed her Agatha. She already has it in for McGee but I think she wants a piece of Tony, if you know what I mean."

"I’ll monitor these two knuckleheads," Gibbs said with a sigh as he settled at the counter. "You finish up... whatever it is you’re doing."

"I’m done."

Gibbs cut his eyes back to her.

"The little chip of rock Ducky sent me that he found embedded in Edmunds’ skull?" Abby started without further prompting. "It’s not rock at all. It’s polyurethane and synthetic resin with microscopic traces of dirt, asphalt, and a mixture of sorbitol, mannitol, glycerin, sucralose, acesulfame potassium, red dye number…"

"Abby!"

"Chewing gum."

"Asphalt and chewing gum? You’re telling me the missing weapon is a shoe?"

"Bingo!" Abby exclaimed. "And not just any old shoe, but probably a woman’s shoe with a stiletto heel judging by the dimensions Duckman gave me of the puncture wound and depressed skull fracture he found in the center of each blow."

"But those skinny heels wouldn’t be strong enough to break a guy’s skull," Gibbs argued.

"Oh contraire, mon frair."

"How?"

Abby moved over to her keyboard and began to type rapidly. "Let me do a pound per square inch ratio for you."

"Don’t bother," Gibbs interrupted, reaching over to still her fingers. "If you say so, I believe you."

"Gibbs, have you seen some of the heifers that toddle around in those things?"

"Okay, okay, I’m convinced. But would a little old lady be strong enough to bust a skull with one?"

"That, I couldn’t tell you. I’m thinking not. But who says it had to be a woman? The shoe might have just been a handy weapon."

"Good point," Gibbs conceded. "Ducky says there aren’t any other signs of trauma to the body and he didn’t drown, he was already dead when he went in the water.  The angles of the blows indicate he was prone when he was struck."

"That makes sense. He was very, very drunk," Abby added. "His blood alcohol was three times the legal limit."

"The perp found him face-down and defenseless and pummeled him."

"That’s cold."

_"I’ll call you."_

_"Don’t keep me waiting, Anthony."_

_"I won’t."_

"Well that came in loud and clear," Gibbs observed.

"He stood up? He must be leaving."

"Good job, DiNozzo," Gibbs muttered. "Now tell him to get his ass back here as quick as possible. We’ve got to plan some strategy before we send him back in."

Abby nodded but Gibbs was already halfway through the doors. "Talk to me, Tony," she told the speaker phone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

"How’s he doing?" Tony asked as he entered the lab, looking to Kate who was monitoring the audio feed. There wasn’t much to hear, mostly Elizabeth on her cell making small talk with someone else and McGee’s nervous breathing.

"He’s in the limo with Mrs. Fontaine on the way to the estate," Kate replied. "He asked to call a cab so he could go home for some things but she didn’t go for it. She promised to buy him whatever he wants or needs, including computer equipment, if he’s a good boy."

"She said he needed to make a clean break from his old life," Abby added with a worried frown as she came around the lab table. She leaned into the one-armed hug Tony offered.

"Our Probie is growing up," Tony soothed as he rubbed Abby’s shoulder. "He’s gonna be fine. We’ll make a field agent out of him yet."

"And he _is_ getting a fancy new wardrobe," Kate offered helpfully, "Even if he doesn’t get to keep it."

"Yeah, well," Tony smirked, "You can put steak sauce on a hotdog but there’s still a weenie inside."

"Tony!" Kate and Abby exclaimed at the same time.

Abby swatted him across the chest as she stepped out of his embrace. "No, you didn’t!  Don’t call him names until he’s back here and safe."

"I’m sorry," Tony apologized, appearing almost contrite in spite of the twinkle in his eyes.

"Don’t let it happen again," Abby warned with a pointing finger and a mock pout as she headed back towards the outer office.

"That was mean," Kate admonished Tony as she tried not to laugh.

"Where’s Gibbs?" Tony questioned with a soft chuckle, watching Abby’s retreat before turning his full attention to Kate.

"He went to update the director," Kate said, looking up to see Gibbs passing Abby in the sliding door. "He’ll be back any second."

"Okay, good. So how much trouble am I in?"

"For what, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked from directly behind him. "For turning into one of those queer eye guys?"

"Queer Eye? Nobody watches that show anymore." Tony sobered quickly at the whack on the back of his head. "Sorry, boss. I couldn’t help myself. Hey, did I tell you in that whole store full of silk and cashmere," he laughed as he turned around, "Probie picked tweed." He frowned as he fingered Gibbs’ lapel. "Not everyone can pull off tweed. It looks good on you, though."

Gibbs smacked Tony’s hand away. "Fontaine wants you to go to work for her," he stated. "Why?"

Tony leaned against the counter next to Kate and held up a finger. "The golden rule."

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," Kate quoted.

"That’s the golden rule?” Tony asked, wrinkling his nose.  “Sounds kinky. But no. I meant the other golden rule."

Kate frowned.  "There isn’t another golden rule,” she told him.

"Sure there is."

"Enough!" Gibbs declared.

"You get what you pay for," Tony hastened to say.

"What?"  Kate shook her head.  “That’s not golden.  Only you, DiNozzo.”

Tony ignored her and turned to Gibbs.  "Elizabeth could have a really lucrative business here except for one thing. Other than offering trinkets and expensive toys, she’s not willing to pay enough to attract older, more seasoned players.  It took me half an hour to get her up to a salary she would think I would accept.  And believe me, she’s getting me for a song."

"I thought she just liked them young," Kate quipped with a smirk.

"I suppose she does. But the guys who are willing to work for what she’s willing to pay are, let’s just say they’re a little rough around the edges."

"Ex-convicts and Marines," Kate supplied with a knowing nod which she abruptly stopped at the look Gibbs sent her way.

Tony agreed with a nod of his own. "She prides herself on how well she knows men."

"But she doesn’t understand these wild young bucks," Gibbs postulated.

"Exactly. And she can’t handle them. They’re scaring off the customers."

"So, she wants you to what? Teach them some manners?"

"More or less," Tony said. "She’s already got some muscle at the front gate to keep them in."

"And uninvited visitors like us out."

"Yeah, that would be Mitchell Gellar," Kate said as she typed and clicked to bring up Gellar’s picture on the plasma. "He’s ex-Army, special forces no less, who runs security at the estate. He’s also a holdover from the dead husband. I’ve prepared a dossier on him as well as the other known employees. Imposing as he is, I don’t think he has anything to do with keeping the boys in line."

"Whew. He is big." Tony cringed at the tall, muscular man in the picture. "And bald."

"I wouldn’t say that to his face," Kate warned.

"I think he knows he’s bald, Kate. He probably uses steel wool on that dome."

"What else have you got?" Gibbs asked Kate impatiently.

Kate clicked through a few photos of other, slightly less military looking men. "Except for Gellar the men on the small security force are rent-a-cops from an agency in Fairfax. They’re all bonded, no records."

"What about the employees at the store?"

"I talked to a pharmacist at the drugstore next door who was very helpful. This is Emma Fierman."

"Shop girl," Tony provided. "Clerk," he amended before Kate could object. "But you already knew that. Go on."

"She works full time at the shop. She started there after school when she was just seventeen and stayed on after Elizabeth bought the place three years ago. Then there’s the tailor, Robert Shoemaker, also a long-time employee. There are a couple of part time positions, especially around the holidays but they turn over fairly regularly. It seems Elizabeth really is a tightwad when it comes to salaries."

Tony scratched his head. "What about Agatha?"

"You mean Miss Jeanette," Gibbs corrected with the hint of a smile.

"Jeanette Smith, actually," Kate said, bringing up a grainy photo of Agatha standing on a balcony. "But I suspect that’s an alias. I couldn’t find anything on her, not even a social security number or driver’s license. The pharmacist said she’s run the place since the buyout but she guards her privacy fiercely."

"Yeah, she didn’t really seem like the friendly type," Gibbs agreed as Abby came back into the room carrying a small cardboard box.

"Speak for yourself," Tony huffed lightly as he rubbed his back pocket. "I’ll get Abby to dust my butt for prints."

"Abs, put that photo through the face thing," Gibbs ordered, pointing to the screen.

"I like Tony’s idea better," Abby teased, making a point to check out the backside in question as she set the box on the counter next to Kate. Tony casually presented her with a better angle and a flutter of eyelashes over his shoulder.

"One thing we _do_ know is where Jeanette lives," Kate went on, sparing a grin for her coworkers’ antics. "Recognize the background in the picture?"

"That’s the Fontaine Estate," Gibbs stated with certainty. "You sure she lives there?"

"According to the surveillance log she arrives by limo every evening and doesn’t leave until she goes to work again the next morning the same way."

"Well, well, well. Maybe her and Liz are, you know, chicka-chicka-bow-wow," Tony guessed.

"God, DiNozzo," Kate complained. "You said yourself that Elizabeth is into men."

"No, I said she prides herself on how well she _knows_ men. I get the feeling she doesn’t really _like_ the male of the species all that much."

"Not surprising for an old pro who had it rough," Gibbs concurred.

"Here are your new toys, Tony," Abby said as she began pulling items out of the box.

"Cool. What have we got? I recognize the eye glasses."

"Complete with camera," Abby said. "Try to get another look at BW’s little black book with these on."

"BW?" Kate asked.

"Black Widow. That’s my new designation for Madame Madam."

"Right."

"Shaving cream?" Tony asked as he picked up the can to give it a shake.

"Whoa! Go easy on that thing," Abby warned as she ripped it out of his hand. "It’s empty. There’s an extra transmitter in it."

"You obviously can’t wear an earwig," Kate pointed out.

"So I’m supposed to walk around with a can of shaving cream instead?"

"No, you put it where you can get to it. It’s for emergencies. The bottom comes off."

"Oh," Tony muttered as he moved on to the next item. "Nice watch."

"That’s your primary transmitter and locator beacon. Try not to get it wet. And yes, it also tells time, James Bond," Abby said as she tugged his regular watch off and slipped it high onto her own arm above her studded bracelet. "I’ll just hold onto yours until you get back."

Tony put on the new one and spoke into the face. "Testing, testing. One, two," Abby punched a button on her keyboard. "three," also came out of the computer speaker as Tony spoke it. He grinned and nodded. "What about a weapon?"

"Can’t you just take yours? She already knows you have a gun," Abby replied. "I didn’t think to hide one."

"Not gonna work," Tony said as he shook his head. "Lizzy was adamant I not carry. She said not to show at all if I can’t deal with going without."

"Prepare a backup, Abs," Gibbs decided.

"Sure."

"All right. DiNozzo, go home and pack a bag. I want you to look like you’re planning to stay for a while."

"On it, boss," Tony agreed as he turned to the door.

"Be careful!" Abby called after him.

"I’m just going home, I’ll be right back," Tony assured with a wave as he left.

Gibbs bent and retrieved his own secondary weapon from his ankle holster. "Use this one," he instructed as he handed it to Abby. "And keep up with McGee," he reminded them both on his way out.

"I hate it when you guys go undercover," Abby confessed to Kate as soon as Gibbs was out of earshot.

"I know," Kate smiled and patted her hand. "It’s easier to be on the other side of the wire," she admitted as she tuned back in to listen to McGee’s heavy breathing.

***

"We eat at six. Don’t be late," Joshua Caster warned as he flicked McGee hard with the end of a towel before tossing it over his shoulder. "The old broad don’t like it when we’re late. She’ll take it out on all of us and then we’ll have to take it out on you when she’s not around."

McGee pulled a scowl but didn’t bother to look up as his new roommate headed out to the pool. "I’ll be there," he mumbled, bringing up another file on his fancy, if slightly used, computer system. "Jackass," he added when the footsteps echoed further down the hall.

_"What a jerk,"_ Kate commented in McGee’s ear.

"So far all of Elizabeth’s boys seem to fall into that category."

Kate laughed. _"DiNozzo’ll fit right in then. Tim?"_ she asked when he didn’t answer. _"You do know that Gibbs trusts you, right? He’s only sending Tony in as backup."_

"If you say so."

_"Come on, McGee, you’ll be doing all the real work while Tony just serves as a distraction. It’s the perfect job for him, he lives for attention."_

"I guess," McGee gave in with a small, reluctant smile. With a quick glance over his shoulder he hacked a little deeper into the in-house network. "Is Abby there?"

_"Right here, Timmy! What cha got?"_

"Mostly downloaded porn on the guys’ computers, some personal emails but it looks like everything goes through a central server somewhere here at the house."

_"And it’s probably closely monitored,"_ Abby guessed.

"No doubt. There’s nothing suspicious so far. Apparently Elizabeth really is a technophobe; she hasn’t even got a PC. But Agatha does," McGee said softly as he pondered the set-up. "It’s encrypted, looks like a fairly complex program."

_"Can you open a backdoor for me? I can work on it from this end."_

"No problem. Except for Agatha’s hard drive the Internet security in this place is off the shelf," McGee mused as he easily overrode admin, adjusted the firewall, opened a port, and then covered his tracks. "There. You in?"

_"Oh yeah, I’m in, baby,"_ Abby cooed. _"Okay, this might take a while to crack,"_ she added after a couple of seconds.

_"It’s sophisticated?"_ Kate asked.

"You could say that."

_"What does Agatha need with a high-tech security system? What’s she hiding?"_

"That’s a good question," McGee agreed. He checked his watch and sighed. "I suppose I should put in an appearance downstairs before dinner."

_"I hate to sound like a broken record,"_ Abby began.

"I’ll be careful," McGee promised. "Don’t worry so much."

***

Gibbs shook his head as he entered the lab and watched Tony stow the rigged shaving cream can in his leather duffle. "Jesus, DiNozzo."

"What?" Tony looked up from the midst of his _other_ luggage: one large and one medium sized suitcase, a garment bag, and what looked suspiciously like a makeup case. "You said to pack like I was planning to stay awhile."

"I know," Gibbs replied, holding up his hands. "To me that’s two small bags instead of one. I just forgot who I was talking to."

"Here," Abby said as she pushed between them to shove a large stuffed animal into Tony’s arms.

"A monkey?"

Abby shrugged, wrapping her arms around Tony and resting her head against the monkey. "He’s a puppet. His name is Gacy."

Tony shook his head in disbelief. "As in John Wayne Gacy?  You named him after a serial killer?"

"You say that like it’s weird," Abby said, pulling back to give Tony a bewildered look. "Just don’t squeeze too hard, he might go off."

"You hid the gun in a toy?" Gibbs asked.

"Hey, it was short notice," Abby replied defensively as she moved away. "I sewed it in. The safety is on but you shouldn’t have any trouble flipping it off."

Tony slid his hand inside and gingerly felt for the trigger. "Works for me. Who’d look up a monkey’s ass for a gun?"

"Your ride is here," Gibbs announced as an NCIS agent dressed as a cab driver stuck his head through the door.

"Russ," Tony greeted. "Nice hat."

"Thanks, Tony. Ready to roll?"

"Yeah. Hey, you wanna grab my bags?" Tony called after the other man who disappeared back out the door. "I didn’t think so," he muttered as Abby helped him gather his things.

"Tony," Gibbs said as he plucked the stuffed animal from Tony’s overburdened arms to get his attention.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Keep it professional."

Tony looked hurt for a second before he masked it behind a grin. "Don’t I always?"

"This is only one avenue of investigation," Gibbs continued. "There’s no reason to cross the line.  That goes for McGee, too."

"You worried about my virtue?" Tony asked, the grin turning impish as it reached his eyes.

"No, I’m worried about you corrupting McGee beyond repair," Gibbs retorted as he stuck Gacy back under Tony’s chin. "Just be careful."

"That’s my line," Abby protested. "And take care of McGee."

"See ya," Tony winked at Abby and waved through the glass at Kate.

"Was that a makeup case?" Gibbs turned to Abby to ask.

Abby shrugged again mysteriously as she went to join Kate. Gibbs followed.  "What’s going on?" he asked at the worried look on Kate’s face.

"Tim went out to the pool to have a look around. Then he pleaded for mercy and there was this big splash," Kate explained. "And now I’m not picking up anything at all."

"Not even heavy breathing?"

"They threw him in, didn’t they?" Abby asked sadly.

"I’m afraid so."

Abby dialed her phone and put it on speaker.

_"I haven’t even left the building yet, Abs,"_ Tony complained as he answered.

"Houston, we have a problem,” Abby told him.

_"McGee?"_

"Has achieved splashdown," Abby confirmed. "I need to send him another earwig.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Russ let out a low whistle as they neared the ostentatious mansion from the quarter-mile long drive.  “Nice digs,” he said, pulling into the final curve where the asphalt gave way to elaborate brickwork.

“I suppose,” Tony agreed with a calculated sigh as he snuck a peak at his envious friend in the rearview mirror.  “If you’re into pink marble and Greek statues.  It’s a little gaudy.  Garish, even.  I’ll probably have to eat caviar and sip champagne while I’m here.  You know, so I don’t blow my cover.”

“Yeah.  Poor baby.  You get all the good assignments, you bastard.”  Russ turned off the engine and stared at the impressive portico and the ridiculous number of steps that led to the double front door.  “That’ll be nineteen dollars and thirty-two cents.”

“What?  That’s highway robbery!”

“Yeah?  Well screw you and your caviar, DiNozzo.”

“Don’t be bitter,” Tony laughed as he slid out of the backseat and pulled a twenty off the money clip in his pocket.  When Russ got out Tony stuffed the bill down the pocket of the fake cabbie’s shirt.  “Keep the change.”

“And a cheap bastard at that,” Russ complained when he dug the money out.

Tony gleefully smacked the other agent on the cheek before starting up the steps without a backward glance.  “Chop, chop.  And be careful with my bags, my new Hugo Boss shoes are in there.”

With an indignant huff Russ popped the trunk and began dumping Tony’s things into the driveway with less than the requested care.

When Tony reached the door, it was already opening.  “Hello,” Tony greeted the small Hispanic woman who beckoned him inside.  “Nice early warning system you’ve got there,” he said thumbing towards the gate far down the winding driveway.

“Ola, Mister Anthony,” the maid said.  “Mrs. Fontaine is holding dinner for you.”  She turned and motioned for him to follow her through the foyer and down the hall that ran behind the wide, curving staircase.

“Maybe later we can go out to the cement pond,” Tony joked, grinning as Russ came through the door huffing and puffing under the weight of the luggage.  

Another maid stood halfway up stairway and called to Russ.  “This way, please.”

“I hate you,” Russ mouthed in Tony’s direction which only made Tony grin wider.  

“Let’s not keep Mrs. Fontaine waiting,” Tony told the first maid as he ushered her on ahead of him.  “I love my job,” he added under his breath.

The hall was elegantly furnished and led them to a large formal dining room where Elizabeth sat at one end of the long table and Aggie near the other to the right of the only empty chair.  Along the sides sat five young, attractive men with various unhappy expressions on their faces as they waited, including a still damp Timothy McGuire who looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock.

Tony headed straight to Elizabeth and took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth for a soft kiss.  “You didn’t have to hold dinner for me,” he told her.

“Don’t be silly, a family dines together.  Attention my darlings,” Elizabeth announced, standing and motioning to Tony with a flourish.  “This is Mister Anthony Wright, of whom we spoke at length earlier.  From now on you will take instruction from him as if he were me.  Anthony, this is Ian,” she began introducing the men on her right, continuing her fluid gesturing.  “Next to Ian is Joshua, and you already know Timothy.”

Tony nodded and made eye contact with each in turn before Elizabeth pointed to the other side of the table.  “This is Curtis, Raphael, and of course, Miss Jeanette.”  She waved a hand to the other end of the table to the empty seat.  “Please, join us.”

Noting the sour dispositions of the men, Tony sauntered slowly to his place.  “Gentlemen.  Miss Jeanette.”  

Agatha smiled coyly and raised a hand toward him, palm down.  Feeling obliged, Tony took her hand as well, stopping to note its relatively large size before giving it a quick bus as well, much to the amusement of most at the table.

“Manners, boys,” Elizabeth crooned in a warning tone.

As soon as Tony’s bottom hit his chair two butlers appeared to serve the salad course and place baskets of bread around the table.

“Why do we need this guy again?” Ian asked, reaching all the way across the table to grab a dinner roll.

“He’s here to groom you into the kind of men our customers are looking for,” Elizabeth explained, probably not for the first time.  

A round of discontented murmurs rose up around the table.

“I don’t need no fag to groom nothing,” Joshua agreed with the general consensus, speaking through a mouth full of endive.

Tony raised an eyebrow and shared a long look with a clearly exasperated Elizabeth.  No wonder she was at the end of her rope.  “I’ll be Professor ‘iggins to your Eliza Doolittles,” he quipped as he flipped open his linen napkin and draped it across his lap.  He looked around at the blank stares, at least from the males at the table.  “Henry Higgins?  My Fair Lady?  Anybody?”

“Fag,” Joshua repeated under his breath.

Elizabeth smiled sadly and shook her head but Agatha reached out and took Tony’s hand.  “Culture is wasted on these children,” she told him.

Tony forced his grimace into a wan smile and tugged his hand free from her surprisingly strong grip as the butler brought a bottle of wine for his approval.  He looked at the label and nodded, impressed.  “Nice,” he said, looking to Elizabeth who nodded back at him graciously.  The first butler began to pour while the other opened another bottle of the same for the other side of the table.

“I saw My Fair Lady my junior year at MIT,” McGee said as he followed Tony’s cue and put his napkin in his lap as well.  He lifted his crystal goblet and sniffed the wine the butler sat in front of him, again looking to Tony for guidance before drinking.

“Did you now, Timmy?” Tony asked, surreptitiously signaling McGee to wait by lowering his hand to the table.  “What’d you think of it?”

McGee set the goblet down and waited for the butlers to finish pouring.  “I thought it was a lot like Pretty Woman.”

“Some people consider Pretty Woman a retelling of the classic tale,” Tony approved, eliciting a grin from McGee.

“How do you two know each other?” the man next to McGee interrupted.  Joshua, Tony remembered.  Joshua Caster.  And Banana Boy needed to be taken down a notch at the first available opportunity.

Tony glanced at McGee’s wet head and back to Caster.  “We were roommates.  Very close.”

“So you are fags.”

“He’s like a brother to me.  Where’s your hearing aid, little brother?” Tony asked McGee, sounding casual while pointedly staring at Caster.

“It, uh, got wet,” McGee answered, looking wary in the middle of the quiet confrontation.

“Maybe he forgot about it when he got in the shower,” Ian Lane popped into the conversation laughingly.

“Is that what happened?” Tony asked still not taking his eyes off Caster who glared back defiantly.

McGee cleared his throat and looked around at the unrepentant faces staring at them.  “Yeah, I guess that’s what happened.”

Tony turned to McGee who was beginning to look more than a little concerned.  “Well don’t worry, it won’t happen again,” he assured as he lay his napkin on the table, stood, and reached for his wine glass to make a toast.

“And what are you going to do about it if it does?” Caster asked.  “Faggit.”

With a sigh of resignation Tony set his glass down.  He had hoped to wait until after dinner as he had missed lunch but there was no time like the present.  “Elizabeth,” he began as he walked around the table and yanked Caster’s chair away from the table.  “Will you excuse us?  Mister Caster and I need to have a word outside.”

“Certainly,” Elizabeth answered.  If she was worried, she didn’t show it.  If anything, she seemed thankful someone was taking her problem child to task.

“Get up,” Tony said to Caster and waited several seconds for him to do so.

Finally, Caster let out an amused huff and bumped his chair into Tony as he stalked toward the French doors leading out to the patio.  “It’s your funeral,” he goaded, pushing through the doors and leaving them open.

Tony inclined his head toward Elizabeth and moved to follow.  As he backed out and reached for a door with each hand the rest of the men clamored from their seats.  “Sit,” he ordered in his best ever imitation of Gibbs in full on authoritarian mode.  He did not show his surprise as they reluctantly obeyed.  “Stay,” he added for good measure and closed the doors behind him.

Tony wasn’t stupid.  In fact, he would have been disappointed if Banana Boy hadn’t tried to jump him before he turned around.  Luckily Caster was all talk, no action, a lover not a fighter.  And probably not much of a lover at that.  Tony easily sidestepped Caster’s initial lunge and landed a right hook in the middle of his breadbasket.  Caster let out a grunt and went to his knees.

Knowing Elizabeth would be pissed if he messed up the merchandise too much Tony dropped his fist and grabbed the man by the hair instead.  Caster coughed up some lettuce on the way to the pool and Tony almost felt bad for kicking him in.  

Waiting long enough to make sure the kid wasn’t going to drown, Tony went back to the dining room doors.  He grinned and waved to the maids who ran out from somewhere on the other side of the pool to fish Caster out.  The ladies smiled back at Tony even though the big lout in the water splashed enough to get them thoroughly wet.  Apparently, nobody liked Caster all that much.

Tony straightened his collar, smoothed his hair and strolled back into the dining room.  He winked at Elizabeth and moved to his end of the table.  McGee looked weak with relief.

Snagging his wine glass Tony lifted it to the remaining members of the dinner party.  “To a long and profitable relationship,” he toasted.

“Here, here,” Agatha agreed, lifting her glass to Tony’s as if they were the only two at the table.

Tony savored the fine wine, smiling as McGee choked a little on the first sip before coming to appreciate the bouquet.  The rest of the natives seemed to chill out and Elizabeth beamed from the other end of the table.

***

“Still here, Jethro?” Ducky asked without looking up from the naked body on his table.  He was still in scrubs and wore latex gloves even though the autopsy had been completed hours ago.  “Well of course you are.  That was a silly question.”

Gibbs smirked as the doors swooshed closed behind him.  “Either you’ve grown eyes in the back of your head or I’m getting too predictable,” he joked.

Ducky grinned as he turned around to properly greet his old friend.  “Where else would you be with two agents undercover in a house of ill repute?  I’m only surprised you’re not a permanent fixture in Abby’s lab.”

“Yeah, well, it was getting a little crowded in there.  What are you still doing here?” Gibbs inquired, taking a look at the corpse.  “Is that Edmunds?”

“Yes.  I’m just double checking a few things.”

“You think he wasn’t killed with a woman’s shoe?”

“Oh, he was,” Ducky assured as he motioned Gibbs closer.  “Of that there is no doubt.  But he was apparently also in an altercation prior to the three deadly blows.  Look here.”  Ducky pointed out the darker skin under and around the dead marine’s eyes.  

“He looks like a raccoon,” Gibbs acknowledged.

“Hmm, quite.  Bilateral peri-orbital echymosis, or Boxer’s Sign, named obviously for its prevalence in the pugilistic arts.  Not to be confused with a boxer’s _fracture_ which occurs in one or more metacarpal after striking a hard object such as a face or a wall with a closed fist.”  Ducky demonstrated with a right jab which Gibbs caught gently mid-air.

“Easy there, Champ,” Gibbs teased in an attempt to get the doctor back on target.

“Sorry,” Ducky said contritely, dropping his fist before finishing.  “These markings are a late indication of a subdural hematoma.”

“From a shoe.”

“In this case, yes.  Fatally so I’m afraid.  He slipped into a coma as his brain rapidly filled with blood and then he died before being tossed in the river like so much rubbish.”

“Where are you going with this, Duck?”

Ducky tapped a gloved finger gently under Edmunds’ right eye.  “The bruising is uneven.”

Gibbs leaned in and compared the dark rings for himself.  “He already had a shiner.”

“Indeed, he did.  From the angle and shallow depth I’d say he was hit with a glancing left hook that just skimmed the right cheek and temple.”

“Enough to knock him down?”

Ducky shrugged.  “Perhaps.  There are other bruises consistent with a fall but as to whether it was from the fisticuffs or the alcohol in his bloodstream, we may never know.”

“Good work, Duck,” Gibbs praised on his way out the door.

“I doubt it makes a difference either way,” Ducky called after him, turning back to the body as the doors closed in Gibbs’ wake.  “I just hate to overlook anything.  Don’t you?”

***

This was a side of Tony McGee had never seen before.  Sure, he knew his co-worker had grown up rich which probably accounted for a lot of it, but this Tony… this Tony was more than lots of money or a pampered upbringing.  This Tony had impeccable table manners.  This Tony was suave and sophisticated and… dare he think it?  Gracious.   _This_ Tony was freaking Robert Wagner.

At the moment there were no signs of the mean-spirited frat boy player that so loved to ridicule and tease.  Tim couldn’t even picture this Tony in jeans and a sweatshirt even as the enigma plied the other people at the table with subtle inquiries, cop-like, but not noticeably so.  To all outward appearances Anthony Wright was simply Henry Higgins getting to know his unwilling little Doolittles.  And he was starting to win some of them over, McGuire included.  Agatha was practically orgasmic which made Tim want to throw up a little in his mouth.

The butlers cleared away the salad plates and replaced them with tiny bowls of sherbet to cleanse the palate, something McGee had heard of but never experienced first-hand.  It occurred to him as he watched Tony effortlessly choose from the nine frigging pieces of silverware, (and really, who needed four forks, four spoons AND a knife?) that maybe he didn’t know the real DiNozzo so well after all.  No one was this good at being someone else without a lifetime of practice.  

Under the table Tony touched McGee’s knee, bringing him out of his inward musings.  Tony prodded a little harder when Tim didn’t immediately respond.  Confused as to what exactly Tony wanted him to do, McGee wiped his mouth on his linen napkin and stared back in abject horror.

With a barely perceptible eye roll, Tony pointed to the floor between them.  “Tim, did you drop something?”

“I don’t think so?” McGee answered as a question, knitting his brow self-consciously as there was nothing on the pristine rug.  He had no idea where Tony was leading him.

“That’s not yours then?” Tony bent and came up with an earwig in his hand.

McGee reached for his jacket before thinking and felt the ruined one still in his breast pocket.

“Did anybody else lose a hearing aid?” Tony teased, showing the device blatantly.

“It’s mine,” McGee sighed.  Once again, he felt inadequate for the job at hand.  “I must have…”

“Dropped it.  Yeah, we got that,” Tony assured, and he wasn’t being mean.  He handed it over and patted McGee affectionately on the shoulder.  Suddenly his hand stilled and his eyes darkened.  

The table grew quiet and McGee turned to see what everyone was looking at.  Ian pretended to cough to cover a disparaging remark about something else being dropped… into the pool.  McGee hastily shoved the earwig into his ear as Tony rose to his feet.

“I’d like to finish dinner,” Joshua said to Tony.  His clothes were dry but his hair was wet and his face wasn’t giving anything away.  

“That would be up to the lady of the house,” Tony deferred to Elizabeth.

The idea that she was still in charge seemed to appeal to Elizabeth a great deal and she looked for a moment like she might actually turn Joshua away.  “Certainly, darling,” she finally allowed after a dramatic pause.  

“I can’t remember dinner ever being so exciting,” Agatha chattered away, eyes only for Tony.

Tony waited for Joshua to sit before taking his own seat again.  He draped his napkin across his lap, winked at Tim, and finished his sherbet as if nothing had ever happened.  

_“Earth to McGee, come in, Timmy!”_ Abby’s voice whispered in McGee’s ear.  Never had it sounded so sweet.  

***

“DiNozzo get McGee squared away?” Gibbs asked as he entered Abby’s lair and held out a Caf Pow! which was quickly snatched away.

“Thanks, Gibbs!”

“McGee’s earwig?” Gibbs pressed patiently.

“They’re still at dinner,” Abby answered after a long, slow drink.  We haven’t been able to make direct contact yet.  But we are getting hungry listening to them scarf down course after course after course…”

Gibbs did a double take.  “They’re _still_ eating?”

“My diet’s taking a hit just from DiNozzo’s happy chewing noises,” Kate muttered around a yawn as she leaned her cheek on her hand.  “Dessert is next so hopefully one of them will be able to slip away soon and talk to us.”

“Listening to people eat is boring,” Abby complained with a sigh before indulging in her drink.

“You weren’t bored when DiNozzo put Caster in the water,” Gibbs reminded her with a twinkle in his eye.

Abby choked out a laugh somehow managing not to sputter Caf Pow! all over Gibbs.  “No, that was definitely the highlight of dinner.”

Kate grinned even as she closed her eyes.  “Definitely.”

“Go home, Kate,” Gibbs ordered after watching her for only a second more.  “At least one of us should get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss anything,” came the quick comeback as Kate sat up straight and opened her eyes.

“You want to sit there and listen while McGee and DiNozzo suckle crème brulee and chocolate mousse?” Abby asked wryly.  

“Abby, please,” Kate complained with a snort.  “I did not need that mental image!”

“Or maybe they’ll have cheesecake, or… or… baked Alaska,” Abby continued dreamily.  

“There’s no telling how much sugar and fat they’ve already consumed this evening,” Kate laughed.  “I guess they call it _rich_ food for a reason.”

“Just give me a Moonpie and an RC Cola,” Gibbs said.

Abby nodded eagerly.  “Or a Clowny Cake and a Caf Pow!”

“Home, Kate,” Gibbs admonished again.  “I want you back in time for breakfast.”

“Ours or theirs?” Kate asked.  “Theirs,” she answered her own question at Gibbs’ look.  She gathered her jacket and got up to leave.  “Night, Abs.  Night, Gibbs.”

“Goodnight, John Boy,” Abby called after Kate as she walked out.

“You might as well get some rest, too,” Gibbs told Abby, settling himself at the counter in Kate’s place.

“After three Caf Pow!s and a Red Bull?  I don’t think so,” Abby said, doing a few jumping jacks for show.  “I’m set for the evening.”

Gibbs shook his head and tried to tune into the various conversations as dessert was served.

_“Crème brulee, my favorite!”_

“I hate men,” Abby grumbled, pinching at a non-existent inch from her waist.

Gibbs smiled softly.  “No, you don’t.”

“Then I hate men’s metabolisms.  I do, Gibbs.  I really, really do.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

No sooner had Tony settled under the overstuffed covers of his nice big, oh so comfortable bed in his private suite he heard the door handle jiggle.  

Right after dinner he’d excused himself to give Gibbs a sit-rep, and a rundown of each and every delicious course of dinner, at least until Gibbs told him in no uncertain terms to stow it, then retired to the parlor with the rest of Liz’s boy toys for coffee, brandy, and smokes in an imitation of gentlemen.  Only they couldn’t pull it off and it turned into a drunken pot party instead after Liz and Aggie gave up and went to bed.  He could still feel the lingering effects of the second-hand smoke even after a hot shower and two Tylenol.

He had no doubt his little to do with Castor was far from over but the kid was playing it cool for now, even appearing somewhat friendly and receptive of Tony’s advice.  But Tony knew any revenge would not come head-on nor without an audience.  And more than likely it would strike his perceived weak spot, namely McGee.  He hoped McGee heeded his warning.  

But Caster was actually low on Tony’s list of persons who might be tiptoeing across his carpeted floor towards the bed.  Still, he pulled Gacy a little closer in the dark.  His real fear was his midnight visitor might be Agatha so he did the only thing he could.  He played dead and prayed the woman was above blatant molestation of someone who appeared to be passed out.

“Tony?”

Tony let out a huge sigh of relief and rolled over to turn on the bedside lamp.  “Probie, you scared the shit out of me,” he admonished, pushing Gacy away.

“Nice monkey,” McGee commented dryly as he hunkered down at the side of the bed.

“Yeah, I get that all the time,” Tony deadpanned.  “Why aren’t you asleep?  Did Caster try something?”

“No, he’s out from all the brandy,” McGee reported.  “I just wanted to say… thanks, I guess.”

“For what?”

McGee shrugged as he studied the floor.  “For looking out for me.”

“Hey,” Tony said, reaching out to catch McGee by the chin and force his head up to look at him.  “Did you think I wouldn’t?  You’re my partner.  That’s what we do.”

There was a gasp from the door and Tony dropped his hand as he and McGee startled and turned to stare like two deer caught in Agatha’s proverbial headlight.  She stood there agape in her flowing white nightgown complete with high-heeled slippers and feathered boa wrapped around her neck.  All dressed up to get undressed.

“I knew it,” Tony grumbled sotto voce.

“I didn’t know,” Agatha stuttered.  “I mean, I had hoped, but…”

Realization struck Tony full force and he knew he had to protect the op, McGee, and himself.  “I’m sorry, Jeanette,” he whispered then slipped a hand behind McGee’s head and pulled him in for a soft, short kiss right on the mouth.   “We’re in love,” he added as he pulled away.  “Aren’t we, Sweet Pea?”

McGee sat frozen in place, his eyes as big as saucers.  Tony could only image what Gibbs or Abby might be saying to him.  He fought the urge to cringe and turned his attention to Agatha instead, there would be time for damage control later.

“We’re in a dangerous position,” Tony told her in his most persuasive voice, adding a touch of puppy dog eyes.  “I think you can understand that.”

“Yes,” Agatha whispered breathily.  “But why him?”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Tony said, turning to McGee with an over-the-top look of longing and love as he cupped McGee’s face, gently this time.  He let the moment linger, watching McGee’s mouth fall open then snap shut when he thought Tony might kiss him again.  The evil glee Tony felt would almost make up for the ribbing that was sure to follow from Gibbs, Abby, and heaven forbid, Kate.  Still, McGee would go down with him, figuratively speaking, and that was comfort enough for the moment.

Agatha took a deep breath and let it out shakily.  “Who am I to stand in the way of true love,” she said, completely disingenuous to Tony’s practiced ear.  She faked a smile even as tears formed in her eyes.  

Down but not out she moved closer and sat next to Tony on the bed to run the fingers of her left hand through McGee’s hair.  The gesture seemed harmless enough but held a real hint of threat.  Tony felt every muscle in his body tense and he thought McGee might actually explode.

“You’ve made a hell of a catch,” Agatha told McGee before turning to Tony and handing him a small, gaily wrapped package she’d been hiding behind her back.  “This is for you.  I want you to have it and maybe occasionally think of me.”  The act was strained at best, barely covering homicidal ideations and leaving Tony thinking he might have made a dangerous misstep.

“Thanks!” Tony said, a much better actor, accepting the gift with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.  He made quick work of the paper, grinning at Agatha as the watch box was unveiled.  Rolex, Tony read, not stopping before popping open the lid.  “Wow.  It’s beautiful.”  Without further ado he slid the gold band around his left wrist.  “What do you think, Tim?” he asked as he showed it off.

“Nice,” McGee agreed even though he was obviously not with the program.

Agatha gloated at McGee, a clear challenge.  So maybe she would try to steal Tony by showering him with trinkets rather than offing the Probie.  They could always hope.

“Thank you, Miss Jeanette,” Tony cooed, leaning in for an air kiss near her cheek.  

“You can call me Jean,” Aggie cooed right back.  “Treat him right,” she warned McGee as she got up to leave.  “Or I just might just take him away from you.”

“Yes ma’am,” McGee croaked barely above a whisper as she sashayed out of the room.  “What the hell was that!” McGee squeaked, turning to Tony as soon as the door closed.

“I’m a gigolo,” Tony explained as he held his arm up in the light to examine the watch.  It felt great on his arm, heavy and expensive.  “Gigolos accept pricy gifts no matter the source.”

“Not that!” McGee was beside himself.  “The… the… the you know!”

“The kiss?” Tony asked, keeping it light and inconsequential.  “You’re gonna have to learn, Probalicious, you do what you have to do to keep your cover.  She caught us in an unexplainable position.  I explained it.”

McGee, still frowning, held out his earwig.

“Gibbs?” Tony mouthed with a grimace as he took the piece and held in up to his own ear.  “Hi, boss.”

_“Is your cover intact?”_ Gibbs’ tinny voice asked with concern instead of sensor.

Tony sighed in relief.  He should have known Gibbs would see the big picture.  “Yeah, we’re good, but at great personal sacrifice.”

_“Good job, DiNozzo.”_

“Hey, Gibbs, is Abby there?”

_“Of course, I am, my little gay Italian,”_ Abby chirped happily.

Running a hand roughly up his face, Tony kept his consternation out of his voice, warning McGee with a look to do the same or they would never live this down.  “You might want to expand your search for Miss Jeanette.”

_“How so, loverboy?”_

Tony gritted his teeth.  “Funny, Abs.  But seriously, I think you should look for a Mister Gene instead.”

“What?” McGee asked, comically gawking at the door where he had last seen his arch nemesis.

“Did you see her throat?” Tony asked McGee.

“No.  She’s always wearing a scarf or a…” McGee trailed off, his eyes widening even further.

“That’s because she’s hiding a big honkin’ Adam’s apple,” Tony guessed.  

_“A tranny?  Are you sure, DiNozzo?”_

“Pretty sure, boss.  She’s got these ginormous hands and feet, no hips to speak of, and freaky upper body strength.  I’ll bet she could snap McGee like a twig.”

_“Strong enough to kill a man with a high heeled shoe?”_

“And woman enough to be wearing one.”

_“Agatha is an Agnew,”_ Abby repeated for clarity.   _“I’m on it, sex machine.”_

“Good night, Abby,” Tony told her firmly before handing the earwig back to McGee.

McGee got up as he put his earwig back in.  He started to leave but turned back around with a question written all over his face.

“Do _not_ ask for a goodnight kiss,” Tony said with a perfectly straight face as he smoothed his covers.

McGee stopped to glare for a second, apparently thrown out of his train of thought.  “But she has breasts,” he finally managed.

“They have these things called _implants_ ,” Tony explained.  “Elizabeth has them, too.  And maybe Kate.”

That, too, gave McGee pause for a second before getting back on topic.  “She had an operation?  I mean _he_ did?”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  Personally?  I’m not gonna get close enough to find out.  Now go to bed, McGee.  We don’t want people to talk.”

With an unhappy nod McGee headed for the door.  “Don’t call me that,” he growled at Abby since Tony knew he’d never use that tone with Gibbs.

“Good night, Sweet Pea,” Tony called out after him, loud enough to earn another scowl, but not loud enough to wake any of the drunks across the hall.  Tony sighed as he turned off the light and settled back in the bed.  After a while he tucked Gacy under his arm and drifted off to sleep, still wearing Wright’s new Rolex.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_“For the record, I do not have implants.”_

McGee blinked his eyes open and looked first in the direction of the heavy snores from the next bed and then at the alarm clock.  Oh seven thirty.  “I didn’t say you did, Kate,” he answered quietly.  “Talk to Tony.”

 _“Speaking of Tony, how is your lo-ver this morning?”_ Kate taunted in his ear.  

Instead of giving in to the knee-jerk reaction on the tip of his tongue McGee took a page from Tony’s book and struck back.  “Jealous?” he asked instead as he got up and headed into the bathroom.

_“Of you and Tony?  I don’t think so, McGee.”_

“Why not?  Tony’s a good-looking guy.  I could do worse,” McGee goaded as he moved to the toilet to relieve himself.

 _“What’s that sound?”_ Kate asked naively as soon as he started.

McGee stopped mid-stream.  “Can you turn your receiver off for a minute?” he pleaded.

“Why?  Oh.  Oh!  Right, sorry,” Kate apologized.  “Go ahead.  You’ve got thirty seconds.”

“Great,” McGee grumbled when he couldn’t start up again.  “Now I’ve got stage fright.”

Suddenly the door flung open and Castor stumbled in and joined McGee at the toilet, actually bumping his shoulder slightly as he swayed.  McGee stood there shocked speechless, and motionless, for the second time in as many days as Castor peed about a gallon, dribbled on the floor, mumbled something unintelligible, then wandered back into the bedroom.

“It’s not a sock,” McGee gasped, dumbstruck, stepping away from the wet spot on the tile.

Kate picked that exact moment to chime back in.   _“What’s not a sock?”_

McGee grunted.  Man, he had to pee, but he couldn’t do it with Kate listening.  “Nothing.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah,” McGee lied, turning on the water in the sink to drown out the first and most necessary step of his morning routine.  “Let me wash my hands.”

 _“How was it to kiss Tony?”_ Kate asked, her teasing not helping the situation.

“We didn’t kiss,” McGee denied, losing his resolve to be cool about this thing.  Maybe he could handle it if his bladder wasn’t about to burst but at the moment he wasn’t up to witty repartee.  Damn Tony anyway.

_“Abby says you did.  In fact, she broke it down with her fancy equipment even after Tony asked you “the kiss?” which was proof enough for me.  You did kiss him, we’ve got scientific evidence on tape.  Want me to play it for you?”_

“No,” McGee grumbled unhappily, because really, you couldn’t refute science.  Damn Abby, too.  “I didn’t kiss him, he kissed me,” he made the significant clarification with a sigh when he finally got going again.

_“Still, Abby said you were lip-locked for like thirty seconds.”_

“She timed us?” McGee asked petulantly as he finished up and turned off the sink.  “No way was it thirty seconds.  Two seconds, tops.  It was just a peck and didn’t really land on my lip hardly at all.”

_“Whatever.  I trust Abby’s judgment.”_

McGee peeked into the bedroom and saw Castor facedown back on his bed.  He closed the door and locked it.  “I’m not discussing this with you.  I’m getting in the shower now.”

 _“Go ahead.  I’ll wait,”_ Kate promised with a smile in her voice.

McGee ignored her and removed the earwig without another comment.  It felt good, almost like hanging up on her but without the risk of her ripping his beating heart out of his chest later.

***

By eight fifteen McGee was dressed and ready for breakfast but most of the doors along the hall were still closed.  He tapped on Tony’s door and opened it only to find a maid finishing making the bed.  “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning Mister McGuire,” the woman greeted as she placed the big stuffed monkey in the middle of the pillows.  “Mister Wright is down by the pool.”  She smiled and her cheeks flushed pink at the mention of Tony’s name and he could only image what Tony had said or done to get that reaction.  Even he had to admit Tony was smooth sometimes.  Anthony Wright even more so.

“Thanks.” McGee took another glance at the bed as he backed out.  

He didn’t really see Tony as a stuffed animal sort of guy but maybe Wright was.  Or rather Tony imagined Wright as that kind of a guy and had even anticipated that Wright would be gay and had a whole history for the character.  Maybe there was more to this undercover stuff than McGee thought.  

Or maybe Tony was just nuts.  He decided that was the most likely answer as he went down the back steps.  By the time he exited the dining room door he’d convinced himself of it.

There Tony was stretched out on a lounge chair dressed in a ray of morning sun and sunglasses but not much else.  He looked like he was asleep so McGee moved in to get a better look.

“Get out of my sun, Sweet Pea,” Tony said without opening his eyes as McGee bent in close.

“How’d you know it was me?”  McGee asked as he sat on the next chair and perused the tray of pastries between them.

Tony huffed, a self-satisfied smirk playing at his lips.  “It was either you or Aggie.  Do you think I’d be out here half naked if Agatha was still around?”  He shuddered but McGee couldn’t tell if it was real or manufactured for his benefit.

“ _Half_ naked?  More like nine-tenths.”  McGee chose a Danish and poured himself a tall glass of iced orange juice from the carafe.  “Agatha left?”

“Bright and early.  Strong work ethic, that one.”

“It could have been Elizabeth,” McGee countered, wondering if maybe Tony’s eyes had been squinted open and he just hadn’t seen it.

“She’s already been and gone.  I guess they tell each other everything.  She knew all about last night.”

“That’s interesting,” McGee commented uneasily before taking a swig of orange juice and nearly spitting it back out.

“That’s not OJ, it’s a mimosa,” Tony informed him a little too late.  “Typically, it’s twelve ounces champagne to two ounces orange juice.  And ice.”

“Champagne for breakfast?” McGee gasped, smacking his lips.

Tony grinned and took a sip of his own beverage, eyes still closed.  “When in Rome,” he quoted.  Smug bastard.

McGee shrugged and took a smaller sip.  I actually tasted pretty good but he wasn’t going to tell Tony that.  “I didn’t figure you for the Speedo type, Tony.”

 _“Speedo?  You’ve got to be kidding,”_ Kate popped in right on cue.  McGee grinned evilly even if Tony couldn’t hear her.  He knew Tony would pay hell for it later, Kate never let anything go.

Tony pulled his shades down his nose to study McGee over the tops.  “A gigolo has to look good all over,” he informed him.  “In fact, you should lose some of those geek clothes, too.  Get some color.”

“Pass,” McGee said as he started in on his Danish.  “Ever heard of melanoma?”

Tony watched him for another minute before pushing his glasses back up and settling down.  “Isn’t that a new-age band?”

_“Tell him to put on some sun block.”_

“Kate says to put on some sun block.”

“Who?” Tony asked, meaningfully inclining his head toward the guy skimming the pool with a net a few yards away.

“Sorry,” McGee mouthed.  He knew Tony wanted to lecture him about staying in character, or the very least keeping his voice down but was glad for the moment they had an audience.

 _“Sorry, McGee,”_ Kate said in his ear.   _“I’ll shut up now.”_

“What did Elizabeth say exactly,” McGee changed the subject.

Tony sat up and turned to adjust the lounge chair until it was flat.  Then he rolled onto his stomach, getting a good look around in the process before sprawling bonelessly with his arms hanging over the top.  He kept his head down and his voice low.  “She said Jeanette was her oldest and dearest friend and she didn’t want to see her hurt.”

“Oldest and dearest, huh?”

“Yeah.  Maybe they strolled the street together back in the day.  Abby should check the Baltimore records for arrests of trannies for prostitution around the time Liz was in the hospital.”

 _“I’ll tell Abby,”_ Kate said, still there but less intrusive.

“Done,” McGee passed on to Tony.  They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes when McGee noticed the gold watch on the table.  “I thought your receiver was in the watch Abby gave you,” he whispered.

“It is,” Tony mumbled sleepily.  “One of them anyway.  After your swan dive we decided backups were in order.  Lots of backups.”

McGee eyed the expanse of flesh and tiny sliver of blue material.  “So where…”

“You don’t want to know,” Tony advised and McGee silently agreed, looking away.

A few minutes later he just had to ask.  “Okay, so what’s up with the monkey?”

Tony actually chuckled as he made a gun with his forefinger and thumb and pretended to shoot the tile beneath his chair.

“Abby?” McGee asked in disbelief.

“She has a hippo that farts.  Is a gun up a monkey’s ass that much of a stretch?  We’ve got another problem,” Tony added so softly McGee had to strain to hear him.

“What?”

“Liz has arraigned for a client to come around tonight.”

“So?”

Tony lifted his head and removed the shades, his expression grave.  “You’re in the lineup.”

It took a second for the information to sink in.  “I am?”

“Yeah.  I told her you weren’t ready but she’s pissed about us “dating”.  She says you put out or you’re out of here.  I said I would take your place but she was insistent no one gets a free ride.”

“I can handle it,” McGee assured, touched by the worry he saw in Tony’s eyes.  “Besides, who’s gonna pick me over Ian or Joshua?”

“Normally, I’d agree with you,” Tony said, not joking but not pulling any punches either.  “I suppose it depends on the client, but you’ve got something a well-heeled woman will spot right off the bat that these goons don’t.”

McGee’s thoughts raced.  He couldn’t think of a thing he had over these guys.  “Like what?” he hated himself, not for asking but for the uncertain tone.

Tony slipped his sunglasses back on and rested his head down on his beach towel before answering.  “Class.”

 _“He’s got a point, Tim,”_ Kate agreed quietly.

McGee was too stunned to answer so he gulped down his mimosa instead.

***

“Gibbs,” Kate pleaded as she turned on her stool to face him.  She hadn’t arrived in time to hear Tony’s conversation with the black widow but Abby had filled her in so it wasn’t a total surprise the woman was planning on whoring McGee out in the near future.  “We can’t let McGee…”

“Take one for the team?” Abby finished, shooting Gibbs a mischievous grin which he returned in kind.

Kate looked from one to the other.  “What’s going on?”

“We’re working on a contingency plan,” Gibbs assured her before taking a swig from his ever-present cup of coffee.

“You wanna let me in on it?” Kate pressed.

“You?  Sure,” Gibbs agreed, again with the conspiratory glance at Abby who grinned all over.

“What about McGee?”

“Gibbs thinks McGee needs to learn to do a little thinking on his feet,” Abby provided.  “You know, get some good undercover training in before we bail him out.”

“Worst case scenario, we pull the limo over after it leaves the estate and ‘arrest’ him,” Gibbs agreed, his eyes shining.

“In the meantime, you let him sweat?  I like it,” Kate approved.  “What about Tony?”

“We’ll read him in if we have to.  It won’t hurt Tony to sweat a little, too,” Gibbs told her.  

“Yeah.  It sounds like he’s sweating,” Kate huffed as they listened to the soft snore coming from Tony’s transmitter.

“He’s gonna burn,” Abby worried, biting her lip.

“I told him to wear sunscreen,” Kate said with a shrug.

***

Twenty minutes had gone by since Tony fell asleep in the sun and his back was starting to turn pink.  He blamed it on the A.M. alcohol, but McGee was really worried.  If he woke Tony up he’d be pissed and probably still lay there and burn just for spite.  On the other hand, if he didn’t wake him Tony would kick his butt for letting him fry. McGee looked around and even the pool boy had left the increasingly intense morning sun.   But a simple solution presented itself.

“Tony?” he tested just to be sure before dragging the large patio umbrella over, table and all.  He grunted with the effort but it was worth it for the shade that almost entirely covered his nearly naked co-worker except for his extreme lower legs.  Tony mumbled in his sleep and rolled onto his side, bringing his feet out of the sun as well.

“How sweet.”

McGee sighed, thinking how he’d love to put bells on the women of the house so they couldn’t sneak up on him anymore.  “Elizabeth,” he greeted quietly as he turned around.  No need to wake Tony, he could handle this on his own even if she did believe Tony might be doing unspeakable things to him in the dark every night.

Elizabeth shushed him from the doors of the dining room and motioned him to join her.  She didn’t want Tony to wake up either, apparently.  His mouth was dry from the champagne, or more likely nerves, but McGee tried to smile as he nodded and headed her way.

“Good morning, darling.  How did you sleep?  Did you sleep?” Elizabeth questioned coyly as she poured him a cup of coffee from the sterling set on the table.

“I slept fine,” McGee told her, willing the blush creeping up his ears away.  Failing miserably.  He pulled Elizabeth’s chair out for her then sat to her right where he could keep an eye on Tony.  Not that Tony couldn’t take care of himself.  He just looked so helpless sprawled out asleep like that.

“Can’t keep your eyes off of him, can you?” Elizabeth asked without sensor.  In fact, she sounded a little envious.

“I don’t trust Joshua,” McGee answered honestly as he took two cubes of sugar then a generous dollop of cream in his coffee.  “I think he’ll try to get even with Tony for throwing him in the pool.”

“You’re probably right,” Elizabeth sighed bitterly.  “Heathens, every last one.  Not like you.  Certainly not like Anthony.  No wonder Jeanette is head over heels.”  

When McGee looked up from his cup Elizabeth was watching him expectantly.  McGee blinked at her.  He had no idea what she was waiting for so he said nothing.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” she prodded.  “Another man wanting what you’ve got?”

“Tony was right?  Agatha is a man!”  McGee wanted to clamp a hand over his mouth as soon as the words passed his lips but it was too late.

Elizabeth surprised him by laughing.  “Agatha?  How gauche.”

“Sorry, uh Tony sort of, you know.”

“Of course, Anthony would notice, wouldn’t he?  Most people never guess.  After all, Jeanette has been in drag continuously for the last twenty-five years.  She’s very good at it.”

“I suppose,” McGee agreed but now that he knew it was obvious.

“She’ll try to steal him,” Elizabeth warned cattily.  “Expect Tony to get a lot of expensive presents, things you could never dream of giving him.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” McGee blurted out.  “Why are you telling me this if she’s your oldest and dearest friend?”

“I see you share information with each other.  That’s nice.  That’s important in a relationship.”  Elizabeth cradled her delicate china cup in both hands and stared deep inside.  

“Why are you warning me?”

“I believe Jeanette has betrayed me,” Elizabeth confessed, sounding contrite and very, very sad at the same time.  “That’s why I need you.”

McGee started to nod but then shook his head.  “What do you want me to do?” he asked with a sense of dread.

“Come with me,” Elizabeth said as she stood.  “I’ll show you.”

With one last look out the window McGee determined Tony was safe for the moment, from UV rays and hung-over hoodlums alike.  He followed Elizabeth out of the dining room, down the hall, and up the grand staircase to Jeanette’s room.

McGee looked around nervously when Elizabeth pulled out a key and opened the door.  “One thing Jeanette does have is an unflagging work ethic.  She loves running the store.  That’s why I bought it for her.  Don’t worry, we’re perfectly safe.”

“Safe?” McGee asked as his internal alarms went off.  “What do you mean safe?”

“She’s gone.  She won’t see us,” Elizabeth explained, pushing the door open and slipping through.

With a final look down the hall McGee followed her, locking the door behind him.  Elizabeth stood at Jeanette’s desk and stared at the computer like it might try to bite her.  Relief hit McGee hard since he hadn’t had a clue what Elizabeth was up to, but this was right up his alley.  He slid into the chair and booted up the system.

“What do you want to know?” McGee asked as they waited.

“I don’t really know.”  Elizabeth wrung her hands and paced.  “Everything, I suppose.”

“E-mails?  Websites she visited?” McGee pressed.  “I need a little guidance here.  Her hard drive is huge.  His?  Hers,” he corrected at the furious glare he got.

“Code, look for a code,” she growled impatiently.

McGee pursed his lips and threw up his hands.  “Everything in a computer is code,” he started to explain.

“ _My_ code,” Elizabeth interrupted.  She grabbed a pencil and scribbled nine symbols on the nearby scratchpad.  “It looks like this.”  She shoved the pad under his nose. “Can you find it or not?”

“I can,” McGee told her as he began trying to figure out her password.  “But it’s going to take some time.  I’m not even in yet.”

Elizabeth smoothed her skirt and nodded.  “I’ll check on you later,” she said, backing away.

“Yes ma’am,” McGee replied.  He acted like he was totally engrossed in his task until he heard the door close and the key in the lock.  “Abby?”

_“I’m here, McGee.”_

“Write this down: pound sign, exclamation point, dollar sign, comma, equal sign, ampersand, pound sign, period, semi colon.”

 _“Got it,”_ Abby confirmed.   _“What’s it mean?”_

“It’s the key to Elizabeth’s code.  Like what Tony found in her ledger.”

_“Sweet!  I love puzzles.  Let’s see:  Nine letters, the first and seventh are the same.  It’s her name.”_

McGee smiled in agreement.  “You’re good.”

_“You are.”_

“You are.  Now help me crack Agatha’s password.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Sometime later McGee guiltily checked his watch and got up to look out the window.  He’d gotten involved in trying to crack the password with Abby and had forgotten all about Tony.  Of course, Agatha’s room would have an excellent view of the patio and pool.  Dirty old man that she was.

He parted the curtain only slightly and glanced below.  The umbrella was now closed giving him an unobstructed view of an empty lounge chair.  Before he could work up to a full panic there was a soft knock at the door.

McGee quickly went through a mental checklist as he approached the door.  It wasn’t Elizabeth, she had a key but no one else knew he was inside.  Agatha wouldn’t knock on her own door and the maid had already come and gone since the bed was already made and the room was museum clean.    “Tony?” he called quietly.

“Open the door, McFly,” Tony whispered back.

Relief trumped irritation and McGee quickly unlocked the door and let him in.  “How did you know I was in here?”

“There’s this new invention called a cell phone,” Tony snarked, heading across the suite to the double doors of the grand bathroom.  He was dressed in slacks, a button-down shirt, and really expensive shoes.  “Kate called me.  By the way, thanks for the shade,” he added as he opened the doors and looked into the gleaming marble and glass room.  “This is bigger than my whole apartment.  Nicer, too.”

McGee looked over Tony’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

“Did you find it?” Tony asked.

“Find what?”

Tony huffed impatiently and entered the bathroom.  “I don’t know, a bloody shoe maybe?”  He started opening doors until he found a huge walk-in closet overflowing with clothing and accessories.

“The murder weapon,” McGee guessed as he followed.  “I didn’t even look.”

Tony turned and gaped at him.  “Why not?”

“I was, uh,” McGee thumbed towards the bedroom.  He grunted when Tony whacked him on the back of the head.  “I deserved that,” he admitted.

“Get Abby in and let her do the geek work.”

“She’s already in.”  McGee stared at his feet.  “I should have let her worry about the computer stuff and I should have searched the room.”

“The first time you drove a car did you jump right on the beltway?” Tony asked.

McGee looked at him and blinked at the non sequitur.  

“No, you didn’t.  You drove around in circles in a parking lot.”

“I guess.”

“This is your parking lot.  Drive carefully.  It may be the only one you get,” Tony advised before disappearing into the monstrous closest.

McGee followed, going straight to the floor to ceiling shoe rack. “Don’t you think Agatha would have toss the shoe?”  

“Are you kidding me?  She’s got clothes in here from nineteen seventy-nine.”  Tony lifted the sleeve of a funk-a-delic blouse and moved on.  “She never tosses anything.”

Tony dug around in old boxes while McGee started examining stiletto heels.  “I need to develop my gut,” McGee confessed with a non sequitur of his own.

“No argument here.”

“I’m talking about my instincts,” McGee said irritably.

Tony stopped digging through a hat box to look at him.  “So am I,” he assured.  “We’ll work on it.”  When McGee didn’t answer Tony got back to work.  “What do you think about Ian Lane?” he asked a minute or so later.

“He’s a jerk.”  McGee finished with the upper shelves and squatted down to the lower ones.  “Why does one person need so many shoes anyway?”

“Don’t knock it til you try it,” Tony laughed.  “But do you think Ian is a murderous jerk?” he pressed.

“I don’t think so,” McGee sighed.  “He’s more the type to stir up trouble and sit back and watch.”

“Agreed.  What about Banana Boy?”

“Caster is scary.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t let him date _my_ grandmother,” Tony quipped.

“And he does have a record,” McGee pointed out.

“So does Lane.”

McGee stopped to listen for a minute.  “Abby says Lane went away for drugs.  Caster went away for robbery and assault with a deadly weapon.”

“Okay,” Tony said pointing a finger as he thought it out, “Say Caster is our murderer.  Why’d he kill Edmunds?”

“Maybe he was too much competition.”

“You think he whacked him for cutting in to his granny time?” Tony asked, obviously not buying it.  “I don’t think anyone’s getting much action around here Geritol set or not.”

“How can they not be?” McGee questioned.  “It’s a whore house.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a busy whore house.  Elizabeth says times are tough.  What about that milquetoast Curtis?  What’s his last name?”

“Miller.”

“Even his name is dull.  Is there a killer lurking under that pasty complexion?”

“I don’t know.  He keeps to himself.”

“Ask Abby to try to dig a little deeper there,” Tony suggested as he finished his side of the closet.

McGee nodded.  “She’s on it.”

“That leaves Raphael.  What’s his last name?” Tony dropped down by McGee and started checking out the shoes on the bottom of the rack.

“I have no idea.  But he’s probably the nicest of the bunch.”

“There’s something off about him,” Tony mused.  

“What do you mean?”

“He says he’s from Mexico, but he doesn’t speak much Spanish.  I called him a chicken livered Momma’s boy and he didn’t react.  At all.  Just sat there staring at me with those big brown eyes with those long girly eye lashes.  It was creepy.”

“Maybe he’s too mature to fall for name calling,” McGee guessed.

“A young, hot blooded Latino male?  I doubt it.  He should have ripped my heart out with his fork.  Speaking of which, did you notice how he ate?”

“Like a pig?” McGee asked.  He’d been too busy watching Tony to notice anything else.

“No, he had great table manners,” Tony told him.  “Great _European_ table manners.”

“Tony,” McGee interrupted.  He held up a size eleven velvet pump with a stiletto heel.  “It looks like this one has been submerged in water.”

“She probably tried to wash the blood off.”

“Abby says there will probably be trace amounts in the joint between the heel and the heel cap.”

“It ought to be enough for a warrant,” Tony said with a grin.

McGee couldn’t help it, he held the shoe up and grinned back

***

Gibbs let out an irritated sigh when Fornell came around the corner.  “Tobias.”

“You don’t sound too happy to see me, Jethro.  That hurts my feelings.”  The FBI agent settled on the edge of Gibbs desk and put his coffee down on top of a stack of Gibbs’ papers, ignoring the dark look sent his way.  There was a brown envelope tucked under his arm.

“When did you get feelings?” Gibbs asked.

Fornell harrumphed lightly then got down to business.  “A word?”

“It’s your nickel,” Gibbs said as he got up, unceremoniously dropped the agent’s coffee into the trash, and followed Fornell to their usual conference room.  Once they were in the elevator and the doors closed Gibbs hit the stop button.  “I take it this has something to do with the Fontaine Estate.”

“You’ve got DiNutso in undercover,” Fornell began as he opened the envelope and pulled out an eight by eleven surveillance photo of a nearly naked Tony lounging by the pool.  “He makes a good Gigolo.  I was surprised you sent your computer geek in as well.”  He pulled out another photo of McGee coming out of the pool fully clothed and soaking wet.  “You can have these.  I’ve got lots of copies.”

Gibbs didn’t take the offered envelope.  “What do you want, Tobias?”

“Look, it’s not my case but I’m sort of the unofficial NCIS liaison.”

“They send you because no one else wants to deal with me,” Gibbs guessed.

“True,” Fornell agreed with an affable smile.  “And I do so enjoy our little talks.”

“Spill it,” Gibbs ordered.  “What does the FBI want?”

“They put the kibosh on your Federal search warrant.”

“They can’t do that.”

“They can and they did.  We were there first.”

“You didn’t get in.  We did.”

Fornell shrugged nonchalantly.  

“We’re investigating the murder of a Marine,” Gibbs pointed out, getting angry.  “What’s the FBI doing?  Trying to shut down a brothel?”

“It’s classified, a matter of national security.  Sorry, Gibbs, it’s need to know.”

“I need to know.”

“The FBI doesn’t see it that way.”

This time Gibbs shrugged.  “I’ve got people on the inside.  You don’t.”

“Also, true.  You up for a little one hand washes the other?”

“Maybe.  If you’ll give us the murder weapon.”

“You’ve got it?”  Fornell seemed surprised.

“We think so.  But we need the warrant to bring it out.”

“What is it?  A gun?  A knife?”

“A size eleven velvet stiletto pump.  A left one, I believe.”

Fornell did a double take.  “Like a shoe?  You’re shitting me.”

“Would I shit a shitter?”

“Huh.”  Fornell scratched his head.  “What have you got without the shoe?”

“Not much,” Gibbs sighed.

“Things probably would go faster with somebody on the inside,” Fornell finally admitted.  “Look, I’ll talk to the agent in charge.  Maybe we can work something out.  You’ll have to pull one of your people out so we can read them in.”

“We’re in contact.”

“Not good enough.  Need to know, remember?  We’re not doing this any way but face to face.”

Gibbs nodded his acceptance and hit the start button. “Give us a few hours to work on an exit strategy.”

The doors opened and a group of people waited impatiently in front of the elevator doors.  Gibbs and Fornell passed through them without pause.  

Fornell stopped at Kate’s desk to present her with the envelop.  “Merry Christmas,” he told her before turning to go.  “Hold the elevator!”

Kate glanced up at his quickly retreating back then looked at Gibbs as she opened it.  “Oh,” she laughed when she got an eye full.  “Abby’s going to love this!”

“This wasn’t supposed to be long term,” Gibbs complained, not bothering to sit down.  “We should have been pulling them out by now.”

“Their covers are secure.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re safe.  Now we have to come up with a way to get McGee out and back in.”

“McGee?  Why not Tony?” Kate questioned.  “He can come and go as he pleases.”

“Those goons are gunning for McGee.  They’ll tear him apart as soon as Tony’s out of the way,” Gibbs explained irritably as he headed for Abby’s lab.  “At this point I don’t think Madam Fontaine can protect him.  Let’s go.”

“They’re not too happy with Tony either,” Kate said.  She dropped the photos on her desk but came back and grabbed them.  She had to run to catch up.

“Tony can take care of himself,” Gibbs assured with as much confidence as he could muster.  

***

The hung-over group sat glumly around the table with mock settings in front of them.  Tony had dragged their butts out of bed and down to the dining room a little after ten for an impromptu lesson in table manners while they waited for a signal from Gibbs about the impending warrant.  Operation Gigolo would probably be over any minute.

The lesson was superfluous, but Tony wanted to appease Elizabeth and he couldn’t deny it, he was enjoying the Henry Higgins role.  Bonus:  if he kept them all together, he didn’t have to worry what they were up to behind his back.

“Are we done yet?” Caster complained, slumping in his chair.

“No,” Tony barked.  “Get your elbows off the table and sit up straight.”

Caster complied, more or less, as Tony passed him by.

“Everyone pick up your salad fork,” Tony ordered, watching his surly students as he walked around behind their chairs.  Tim and Raphael half-heartedly held up their salad forks.

“This fucking sucks,” Ian muttered under his breath as he struggled to come up with the correct utensil.

“Watch your language,” Tony rebuked.  “Dick weed.”

“You cussed,” Ian pointed out as he made a selection and waved around the wrong fork.

“I can control myself in front of the ladies.”

“There ain’t no ladies here,” Caster grumbled, making no effort at all.

“With your table manners it’s no wonder.  And don’t say ain’t.  Salad fork,” Tony repeated as he circled again.  “What’s the rule?  Tim?” he added when no one answered.

“Start from the outside,” McGee restated for the third time, looking as bored as the rest of the class.

“That’s right.  When in doubt start with the utensil closest to the outside of the plate.”  He smacked Ian in the back of the head as he passed him.  “Wrong fork.  And put your napkin in your lap.”

“Hey!”

“Do you want to eat in nice restaurants?” Tony turned abruptly to ask him.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to make more money?” Tony revised with a sigh of resignation.

Ian rolled his eyes.  “Yeah.  Duh.”

“Yes,” Tony corrected.  “E nun ci ate.”

“Yes,” Ian answered, crisply pronouncing each syllable of each word.  “I would like to make more money.  But they ain’t…”

“Ack!” Tony yelped, raising both hands in dismay.  “There is no ain’t.  Strike it from your vocabulary.”

“They _are not_ paying me for my table manners if you know what I mean,” Ian laughed a dirty little laugh and the rest of the boys joined in.

Tony leaned over Ian’s shoulder and spoke close to his ear but everyone strained to listen.  “You have to be chosen to make money.  These guys?  They aren’t your friends.  They’re your competition.  You have to stand out.”

“How?” Ian asked as he eyed the people he suddenly saw as rivalries.  They eyed him back.

“Consider this a sport.  Manners are your ball handling skills.  You can’t get down court without honing them.  No matter how well you shoot, you need manners to score.”  Tony stood up and addressed the rest of the group as well.  “You can piss and moan all you want but in this profession the skills I’m trying to teach you will make you a _lot_ of money.   I don’t wear Prada because it’s cheap.  If I wanted economical I’d shop at Sears.”

Around the table everyone went quiet then one by one sat up a little straighter.  After a minute of reflective silence Caster raised his hand.  

“What?” Tony growled.

“Could you go over the silverware thing again.”  He paused for a moment as if to think.  “Please,” he added.

Tony snorted then smiled as he shook his head.  “Sure.  Tim will go over it with you.”

“I will?” McGee asked, startled.  He looked up and followed Tony’s gaze to Elizabeth in the doorway.  “I will.”

“I’ll be right back.”  Tony ushered Elizabeth back into the hallway.  “What’s up?”

“Jeanette called.  It seems she has procured a new client through the boutique,” Elizabeth told him, beaming.

They could hear McGee going over the silver and the others already getting rowdy.

“That’s great.  In fact, I think we’re making progress here, too.  Give me a week and you can put any of our boys up for a GQ spread.”

“We don’t have a week,” Elizabeth said.  “He’s coming tonight.”

“He?”

“Yes.  And since Tim is one of the only ones who wouldn’t strenuously object to a male client…”

“He’s not ready,” Tony cut her off.

“Anthony, we need this.  This is no time to act like a jealous lover.”

“I’m not,” Tony insisted.  “I’m telling you, he’s not ready.”

“That may actually work in our favor,” Elizabeth advised shrewdly, running her hand up Tony’s arm in a vain attempt to sooth him.

Tony clenched his jaw as he stared at her.  “Jeanette told the client Tim’s a virgin.”

“No, she merely said he’s inexperienced.  That’s not necessarily a lie.”

“Whatever.  I won’t allow it.”

Elizabeth’s face grew hard.  “You know the rules, and no, before you ask, you may not take his place.  He specifically asked for an ingénue.  You don’t fit the bill.”

There was a round of uproarious laughter from the dining room.  “I’ve got to get back in there,” Tony told her.  “But this isn’t over.”

“Actually, it is,” Elizabeth declared as she started to stalk off.

“Wait a minute,” Tony called her back.  “You said Tim is one of the ones who takes male clients.”

“Yes?”

“Who else?”

“Does it matter?”

“I thought we were going to work together.  We can’t do that if you’re keeping secrets.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed there’s a certain homophobic vibe in this house.”

“You think _I’m_ into gay bashing?”

“Of course not.  But I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

There was a crash in the dining room.

“Tell me before I have to kill a couple of the more homophobic ones,” Tony requested urgently, indicating the growing ruckus in the next room.  “It’s either Raphael or Curtis.”

“Raphael,” Elizabeth spat out.  “And you stay away from him!  I don’t want another one mooning over you.”

Tony sent her a dirty look then stormed back into the dining room.  Everyone froze.  McGee was backed into a corner holding a bud vase in front of him like a weapon while Ian and Caster moved in on him.  Curtis and Raphael seemed to be betting on the outcome.  Crystal was overturned on the table and napkins lay scattered across the floor along with the flowers that had been the centerpiece.  

“That’s enough for now,” Tony said as he stepped in front of McGee, glaring down the two aggressors.  “We’ll practice at lunch.”

Caster pretended to lunge one last time before laughing it off and moving away.  Ian shrugged at Tony and pointed at Tim.  “Later,” he said as he, too, turned to leave.  Curtis and Raphael were already out the door, whooping as they peeled off clothes and jumped in the pool.  

Behind him Tony heard McGee let out a breath.  “You okay?”  he asked, keeping his eyes on Caster and Ian as they disappeared outside as well.

“Those guys are assholes.”

“Yeah.  Let’s go upstairs.  We need to talk.”  Tony didn’t look back but he knew McGee was right behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

When they got upstairs maids were sorting boxes and garment bags in the hall.

“Hey, your clothes are here,” Tony commented to McGee as he recognized some of the logos.  “Nice.”

“I can’t even read some of this stuff,” McGee complained.

“That’s because it’s in French, and Spanish.  Oh, and Portuguese.  Hey, Marissa, wrong way,” he told his favorite chamber maid as she opened the door to his room.

“But these are for you, Mister Tony,” Marissa told him with a sly smile.

“Really?” Tony rushed into his room giddily and poured through the designer bags already stacked on the bed and bench seat.

“Somebody likes you,” Marissa teased.

Tony winked at her as he unzipped one of the bags to find a fine silk suit.  “This is worth more than my car,” he told her knowingly as he took out the jacket.  

“Miss Jeanette said to tell you the tailor and his staff will be around this afternoon for alterations.”

“Thanks!  Hey, Tim, look at all this stuff!”

“Yeah.  I see it,” McGee said from the door as he stepped out of the maid’s way.  “Give us a minute?”  When she nodded he pushed the door shut behind her.

“What’d you get?”  Tony asked without looking up from the jacket he was examining.

“Two shirts and a suit,” McGee provided dryly.

“Yeah, but you’ve already seen the tailor.  Perfection takes time, you know.”

“And a pair of shoes.”  McGee looked pointedly to the six shoeboxes next to Tony’s bed.

“I’ll bet they’re really nice though, right?” Tony said with a guilty grin from the midst of his bounty, still clutching the jacket to his chest.  

“Gibbs wants to talk to you,” McGee grumbled as he thrust the earwig in Tony’s direction, clearly not happy for his teammate’s good fortune.

“Ow.  The grinch that stole Christmas,” Tony muttered as he carefully set the jacket aside and took the device.  “Hey, Boss,” he greeted when he had it up to his ear.  He raised his head to look at McGee as Gibbs spoke.  “But…”  He stopped and listened some more.  “Sure, Boss.  No problem.”

“What’s wrong?” McGee queried when Tony handed him the earwig back.

“No warrant,” Tony explained.  “We’re in for the long haul.”

“That’s not so bad.  Is it?”

Tony huffed a laugh.  “Not for me,” he said.  “Unfortunately, Elizabeth has booked a date for you.  Tonight.”

“Oh.”  McGee started to sit on the fully loaded bench at the foot of the bed but Tony caught him under the arm and guided him to the empty chair by the window instead.  

Tony knelt down beside him before finishing.  “It’s a man.”

McGee squinted up his eyebrows.  “Huh?”

“The client Elizabeth has set you up with.  It’s a John.  Not a Jane.”

“What?”

“Gibbs is aware,” Tony placated.  “He said not to worry.”

“Who’s worried?” McGee asked, chewing on his lower lip.  Worriedly.

“That’s the spirit,” Tony joked, moving back toward the bed but with much less enthusiasm than before.  “Look, Probie,” he said, breaking character almost completely for the first time since they’d been in the house as he turned back to McGee.  “I know you don’t trust me, but Gibbs is not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I know that,” McGee assured.

“He probably just wants you to work your way through it, you know, grace under pressure.  It’s a test.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, still as sincere as McGee had ever seen him.  “I do.  Now go try on your clothes like a good junior gigolo.”

McGee sighed as he got up and headed for the door.  “Tony,” he said before opening it.

“Yeah?”

“I do trust you.”  McGee opened the door to be met by the two maids with even more clothing and accessories for Tony.

“Mister McGuire?  I put another bag for you on your bed,” Marissa told him.

“Thanks,” McGee said with a real smile.

***

_“I do trust you.”_

“Ah, that’s so sweet,” Abby said sleepily as she continued to rest her head on the counter.  

“Yeah,” Kate agreed as she watched Gibbs exit the lab leaving them to monitor the distant conversation.  “Kind of makes me want to tell them everything will be okay.”

“We can’t do that,” Abby replied, sitting up and staring at Kate with bloodshot eyes.  “This is more than a Gibbs’ test, this is a chance for Tony and McGee to bond, to foster the mentor/probie connection.  This is relationship _gold_.”

“I guess.  Anyway, it sounds like Tony really made out in the wardrobe department.”

Abby yawned and lay her head back down.  “If he ever wants a sugar-momma he’s all set with Agatha.”

“You mean sugar-daddy,” Kate corrected with a laugh.  “Hey, why don’t you go home?  I can keep up with the guys until your relief arrives.  You haven’t slept since the op started.”

“I don’t know,” Abby resisted.  “I hate to leave.”

“Abby, this could take days or even weeks.  That’s why Gibbs is bringing in help, we can’t keep this up indefinitely.  Caf-Pow! will only take you so far.”

“I’ll take a nap, but I want to be here for the big date,” Abby compromised with a big grin.

“Okay, but then I’m driving you home,” Kate told her.

***

“You missed lunch,” McGee informed Tony from the open door before meandering in to watch the never-ending fitting.

“No kidding,” Tony groused, mindful not to move as Mister Shoemaker pinned the hem on the last pair of pants.  He’d already inadvertently crossed the little tailor a couple of times and the old guy wasn’t afraid to stick him.  “I also missed afternoon tea.  I’m starving.”

Shoemaker muttered something in his thick German accent but since his mouth was full of pins it was unintelligible.

“Was that English?” McGee asked, safely away from the pins.

“Who knows,” Tony sighed.  “I’m just praying we’re done in time for dinner.”

McGee grinned evilly as he ran a hand over the stack of clothes on the cart ready to be altered, moving away at the disapproving look from the tailor’s apprentice.  “Am I sensing a down side to all these riches?”

“Shut up.”

The old tailor removed the pins from his mouth one by one and shoved them into the pincushion one of his assistants held out to him.  “Remove the pants,” he ordered Tony brusquely.

“I usually like a ‘please’ with those particular words,” Tony said as he unzipped.  “But in this case, I’ll make an exception.  Wow,” he added, pulling back and jumping off the little square fitting stool at the glare Shoemaker gave him.  “I’m removing, I’m removing.  He doesn’t approve,” he told McGee as he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the slacks.

“Of our occupation?”

“Of us in general.”  Tony held out the pants and the apprentice snatched them away to add them to the fully loaded cart.

“I seem to recall that sentiment at my fitting,” McGee sympathized.

“How was lunch?”  Tony asked brightly, standing completely at ease in socks, an undershirt, and boxer shorts while he waited for further instructions.

“Delicious.  We started with cucumber sandwiches…”

“With cream cheese?” Tony cut him off.  “No, don’t tell me.  My empty stomach can’t take it.  Did everyone behave themselves?”

McGee nodded thoughtfully.  “Actually, they did.  Elizabeth picked up where you left off with the table manners.  I think they’re starting to catch on.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Tony,” Caster called out as he busted in from the hall.  “What should I wear tonight?”  He held two pair of pants in his right hand and two shirts in his left.

“We are done,” Shoemaker announced with a haughty sniff.  He clapped his hands twice and stormed out past Caster while his crew loaded up their gear.

“None of the above,” Tony said as he examined Caster’s offerings.  “What else have you got?”

“Not fair,” Ian protested as he jostled past the apprentice who was trying to maneuver the cart out to the hall.  “That gives Josh an advantage.  Besides, _I_ brought food.”  He held up a napkin wrapped cucumber sandwich.

“Food?” Tony accepted the package and unwrapped it but looked it over suspiciously before taking a bite.  He chewed cautiously then swallowed, apparently satisfied with the quality.  “Well then, we’ll have a look at your wardrobe, too,” he promised, herding them both out of his room while the assistants finished up.  He glanced back at McGee’s pout.  “You, too, Cinderella,” he offered.

McGee grinned and followed them out.  They picked up Raphael in the hallway and headed for Caster’s room like one big happy family.

Tony opened the closet with a flourish, holding the now half eaten sandwich in one hand.  “Let’s talk about dressing for success.  Wait a minute.”  He stopped and looked around.  “Where’s Curtis?”

“His loss,” Caster stated, earning nods of agreement all around.  

“Okay,” Tony agreed, certain Curtis would be pulling him aside for a wardrobe consult sometime before the lineup.  But ten minutes into the lesson Curtis slunk into the room and listened raptly along with the rest of Tony’s now eager students.

***

Tony frowned as he dressed.  Something was off about his room but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it as he looked around.  Just as he opened the top dresser drawer, where he’d stashed his wire before disrobing for the tailor, Elizabeth came barging in.  

“Does anyone knock around here?” Tony grumbled as he closed the drawer.

“Don’t be such a prude,” Elizabeth scoffed, moving straight to him to help him with his shirt.

“I can do it,” Tony objected only to have his hands swatted away.  He eyed her jerky movements and smiled.  “Nervous?” he asked.

“We’ve got to make a better showing,” Elizabeth moaned.  “Tonight could make or break us.”

“Who are the clients?” Tony questioned, hoping they were close enough to the nightstand for the watch to pick their conversation clearly.

Elizabeth sighed and her hands shook as she buttoned Tony’s shirt.  “You already know as much as I do about Timothy’s date.”

“Which is next to nothing,” Tony complained.

“Don’t worry, Jeanette has a sixth sense about these things.”

“She also has it out for Tim.”

“She would never cross me, not that way.”  Elizabeth finished with the buttons and smoothed Tony’s collar.

“If you say so,” Tony accepted unhappily, stepping back to tuck his shirt in.  “Who else are we expecting?”

Elizabeth unashamedly watched him unzip but he kept her at bay long enough to complete the actual tuck on his own.

“The two ladies are spinster sisters who’ve been in Europe for the past six months.  They’re from a quite prominent family and are looking for escorts to the opera.”

“And maybe a bit more?”

“Of course.”  She smiled wickedly as she cornered Tony by the bed and helped him zip his pants back up.  “Luckily I was able to correspond with them before they got home yesterday.”

Tony gave her the stink eye but she proved impervious to it.  “You mean before they got word on the grapevine about your little hellions.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.  If this goes off without a hitch we may be back in business with their friends. Look, darling,” she said, softening considerably, “If I haven’t said thank you…”

“You haven’t” Tony interrupted as he reached for the tie on the bed and tugged it around his neck. “But, hey.  This arrangement benefits both of us.”

“It does.  But you really have done a wonderful job in a short amount of time,” Elizabeth praised.  She once again pushed Tony’s hands away and slipped the tie under his collar before expertly knotting it.

“Isn’t there someone else you could be dressing?” Tony asked, mostly for the benefit of whoever might be listening.  He hoped it was Kate.

“No.  I don’t want to give anyone butterflies,” Elizabeth admitted with a laugh.

“What about me? I’ll be a nervous wreck by the time you’re done with me.”

“Anthony, you’ve never had butterflies a day in your life.”  She finished with the tie and held Tony to arm’s length to examine him.  “You are beautiful.  Why aren’t you living the high life with some old broad somewhere?”

“I am,” Tony joked.

“You son of bitch,” Elizabeth growled playfully, smacking him on the cheek before kissing the same spot and wiping the lipstick away with her thumb.

She moved to the nightstand and pulled a Kleenex out of the box to clean her hand while Tony put on his jacket.  After throwing the used tissue in the waste can she picked up the Rolex and handed it to Tony.

“It’s a good thing you’re worth it,” Elizabeth told him.  “Jeanette is spending my fortune on you.”

Glancing at the other watch, the one with the receiver, Tony made an executive decision and slipped the Rolex on.  There wasn’t a reason on Earth Elizabeth would buy if he chose the plain one even if he didn’t have time to put on the other wire.

“What about you?” Tony asked.  “Why are you doing this?”

“This?”

“Come on, you could easily retire.  Take on a boy toy of your own.  It’s not about the money.”

“It is,” Elizabeth insisted.

Tony stared into her eyes until he was convinced she was serious.  “How much is enough?” he finally asked.

“Enough?  There’s no such thing,” Elizabeth declared as she hooked her arm through his.  “Let’s call the troops.”

“Let’s,” Tony agreed, smiling down at her.

***

Elizabeth arranged her boys two steps apart on the spiral staircase dressed in an array from upscale sporty to formal to show off their range.  She put Caster nearest the main floor for drawing power in tight pants and an open shirt.  Raphael was next with his smoldering Latin lover look set off even further in blinding tennis whites.  

Pretty boy Ian was next, and finally a slightly sunburned Curtis who’s pink skin clashed with his reddish blonde hair.  Tony suspected he was only there to make the others look good by comparison since Elizabeth had been outraged when she saw him.  Although he would make a good bed warmer with all the heat he was putting off.

Tony inspected them one by one, starting at the top with Curtis.  Tony dusted imaginary lint off the shoulder of Curtis’ dark blue suit.  “Show me your teeth.”  Curtis gave him an obligatory eye roll but complied never-the-less.  “You’ll do.  Knock ‘em dead, Romeo,” Tony told him before moving on, more than a little white lie and they both knew it.

Two steps down Ian frowned as he pulled at his bowtie.  “Why can’t I be at the bottom?”

“Don’t worry, the old girls will check out everybody,” Tony assured.  He smacked Ian’s hand away from the bowtie and straightened it.

“But why do I gotta wear the monkey suit?”

“Why do I have to wear the tuxedo,” Tony corrected.

Ian let out a breath in irritation.  “Why do I have to wear the tuxedo?”

“That’s better,” Tony told him, leaning in close.  “You’re already dressed for the opera, that’s points in your favor already.”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed with a smirk as a light bulb went off in his head.  A dim bulb, maybe sixty watts Tony thought.  “I mean, yes.”

Tony winked at him and moved on to Raphael.  “How are you, amigo?”

“Fine, thank you,” Raphael responded coolly.  He struck a pose and looked like he just stepped off the cover of GQ.

Wearing his friendliest smile Tony hit him with another particularly abrasive insult in Spanish, involving his mother and a goat, but Raphael let that one pass, too.  Tony shook his head and once again moved on.

“How are you doing, Joshua?” he asked as he reached the bottom step.  

Caster puffed up his chest and flexed his bicep.  “What woman could resist me?”

“Easy there, hot stuff,” Tony advised good naturedly.  “Don’t go popping your seams.”

Elizabeth stood in the entryway near the door watching Tony’s little inspection.  “Well?” she asked as she pulled Tony aside.

“My money’s on Caster and Raphael.”

“I concur.  What about Tim?”

Tony’s smile faded.  “I haven’t seen him since right after dinner.  I assume his nails are bloody stumps by now but other than the fact he can’t keep his fingers out of his mouth he’s hiding his angst well.”

“He’ll be fine,” Elizabeth cooed just as the intercom went off to announce the arrival of a limo.  “Here’s his date now.”

“Swell.”  Tony stared out the window next to the door.

“You really do care for the boy,” Elizabeth stated sounding like she just couldn’t wrap her head around the concept.

“Is that so hard to believe?  Don’t you care for anyone?”

“Jeanette is my oldest…”

“And dearest friend.  And yet you have Tim spy on her.”

“He didn’t find anything.”

“That doesn’t justify it.  If anything, it makes you look… petty.”

“Do you enjoy making me angry?” Elizabeth fairly spat the words at him.

“I do.” Tony turned to smile at her.  “It puts color in your cheeks.”

Elizabeth harrumphed and fluttered a hand to her pearl necklace.  “How you test me, Anthony.”

Tony gave her his sexy little growl in the back of his throat and she defrosted somewhat.

“I didn’t want to spy,” Elizabeth confessed, turning to the window.  “But someone had been in my daybook and suddenly I got a bill for expensive new security software on her computer.”

“So you put two and two together and came up with Jeanette.  Did you ask her about it?”

“Of course not!”

“Right.  What was I thinking?”  Tony watched the limo pull around from over Elizabeth’s shoulder.  The driver got out, opened the back door, and helped Agatha exit the vehicle.  “I thought this was the client.”

“It is.  The old boy drives a restored Bentley which is really much too distinctive to be discreet.  Jeanette thought it best for him to ride to the estate in the limo with her.  The driver will take them back to his car.”

Tony couldn’t help it, he released a huff of breath.  “A Bentley?”

“Yes, he’s a retired doctor.  British I believe, quite refined.  You have nothing to fear for Timothy.”

“Isn’t he coming in?” Tony asked as Aggie said her good-byes then started up the steps alone.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Elizabeth said, inclining her head toward her live-action Ken dolls leaning against the banister in various stages of boredom.  “Do you?”

McGee appeared at the top of the stairs in a crisp, off-white linen suit.  His hair was combed back and the royal blue shirt and tie made the outfit pop.  He descended the stairs with style, grace, and aplomb.  He was being James Bond.  And he was good at it.

Elizabeth caught her breath.  “He looks _fab_ ulous.”

“Maybe you should go out and greet our mystery doctor,” Tony suggested without taking his eyes off McGee who still had to make it past four punks to get to the door.

“Absolutely,” Elizabeth agreed, smirking at Tony before opening the door.  “For heaven’s sake, don’t get fingerprints on him,” she teased.

Tony gave her a look and waved her off.  She laughed on her way out but Tony went to meet Tim at the bottom of the stairs anyway, mostly to make sure no one ‘accidentally’ tripped him on the way down.  Blood would ruin the look.

“Hey, bitch,” Caster grumbled as McGee made it to the floor.  “Back up to the top.”

“Tim’s not in the lineup,” Tony advised all of them.  “He already has a date.”

“That’s not fair,” Ian declared on cue.

“Who told you life is fair?” Tony asked amidst the chorus of complaints and insults.  “Settle down.  The client wanted a virgin and none of the rest of you yahoos could pull that off, with the possible exception of tomato-boy up there.”

McGee’s mouth fell open to protest but he quickly closed it.

The rest of them shut up as well but Curtis glared at Tony from his lofty perch.  If looks could kill Tony thought they would already be planning his funeral.  He clapped McGee on the shoulder and moved him to the door.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” Tony advised as he eased Tim outside.

“The small stuff?”  McGee tried to keep cool but he could feel his pulse racing and Tony was acting like it was nothing.  “Easy for you to say.  You’re not the one being pimped out.”

Tony shrugged obnoxiously as he propelled him along.  Once they were on the portico, he grabbed Tim’s shoulders and turned him around to face him.  “Have faith, Timmy,” he told him with a maddening grin.

McGee managed a nod just as Agatha joined them.  “You look good enough to eat,” she purred.  Tim was shocked when he realized she wasn’t talking to Tony.  “Have fun, dear.  Don’t worry, I’ll look after Anthony while you’re gone.”

She slipped her arm through Tony’s and leaned against him.  Tony batted his eyes and kept right on smiling.  Suddenly Tim felt like his parents were seeing him off to the prom.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded again before turning to make his long, long way down the steps to the ominous waiting limousine.  

“Oh yo-ho heave ho,” Tony sang slowly in a false baritone. Great.  Mood music.  To make matters worse Agatha began to giggle as Tony kept singing.

Each step felt like he was that much closer to his doom.  Trust Gibbs, came the whisper in his ear.  And he did.  Didn’t he?  And why did Tony have to pick now to be a jerk, just when he needed support the most?

As he neared the car Elizabeth stepped out of the limo and beamed at him.  “I’m so proud of you, darling,” she gushed.

Again, McGee managed a nod.

“Have fun!”  With that Elizabeth stepped back and let him round the open car door.

McGee took a deep breath then leaned in and… smiled.  “Good evening,” he said with a sense of relief that threatened to put him on his knees.

Ducky tipped his hat and patted the seat next to him suggestively.  “Don’t just stand there, dear boy.  Get in.”

***

Elizabeth gathered Tony and Jeanette on her way back to the house.  As the limo pulled away another set of headlights came down the driveway.  “Here they come,” Elizabeth said, crossing her fingers for luck.

“How did it go with the tailor?” Jeanette asked Tony as they stepped inside.

“That is one mean little man,” Tony told her as he rubbed the pin prick at the back of his left thigh.

Agatha gave him a knowing smile.  “Yes, but he is the best.”

“Then I guess it was worth a little spilled blood.”

“This is it, gentlemen,” Elizabeth announced to her troops, ignoring the side conversation.  They straightened up leisurely, some posing, others not.

“Excuse me,” Tony said to Agatha before marching up the stairs to Raphael.  “Give me that,” he demanded, holding out his hand for the half-melted candy bar the man was eating.  

“Sorry,” Raphael muttered but he gave it up without a fight.  

“Swallow that gum,” Tony barked at Caster as he passed him, not bothering to look back as he stashed the candy in the flower vase in the entry.  He shared an aggravated glance with Elizabeth then lined up with Jeanette halfway between the door and the stairs.

One of the maids appeared just in time to open the front door before the two women, both somewhere on the far side of sixty, could actually ring the bell.

“Harriet,” Elizabeth greeted, air kissing the first woman through the door.  “How good to see you.”

The large woman wore an elegant gown and dripped in jewels including a tiara.  “Bitsy,” Harriet replied but made a bee-line straight to Tony.  “Oh, darling, I’ll take this one.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Tony told her sweetly, taking the offered hand.  “I’m not on the menu, I’m strictly management.”

“Oh pooh,” Harriet responded, turning back to Elizabeth as she released him.  “Surely you’ll make an exception for _me_.”

The other woman, slimmer but similarly overdressed, passed by Elizabeth without a word.  “How pretty!” she exclaimed, sticking her gloved hand right under Tony’s nose.  Tony accepted it graciously and kissed it.

“Back off, sis,” Harriet glowered.  “I saw him first.”

“Rachel, Harriet,” Elizabeth intervened.  “You haven’t even seen the real talent yet.  At least take a look before you decide.”

The woman glared at each other, neither giving an inch until Tony ushered them towards the stairs by inserting himself between them and taking each one by the arm.  “This way, ladies.”

“I want this one,” Harriet pouted to Elizabeth but she let Tony direct her anyway.  “Oh my,” she muttered when she got a good look at Caster who leaned with his back against the rail in such a way that put his best feature forward.  “Is that a sock?” she whispered to Tony.

“I have it on good authority that it’s not,” Tony assured her in the same hushed tone of voice.

“I’ll take this one,” Harriet amended with a leer at Caster, who returned it in spades.

“Oh.  Oh, my,” her sister echoed, obviously intimidated by the sight.

Tony dropped Harriet off with Caster and escorted Rachel up the stairs.  She started to smile as they reached Raphael until she realized he had a big smear of chocolate on his lower lip.  Tony glared at him and signaled for him to wipe his mouth.  Raphael looked confused for a minute then swiped at his face with his hand.  But then he took it further and wiped his hand on his shorts leaving a wide swath of chocolate on the otherwise pristine white fabric.  

“Of course, Raphael will have to change into his _freshly cleaned_ tux before you leave,” Tony tried to undo the damage.  

Rachel seemed to consider this but then Raphael burped.  Loudly.  

“Pardon me,” he said in a much thicker accent than usual.

“That’s quite all right,” Rachel mumbled, quickly heading further up the stairs.

Tony eyed Raphael as he followed her but got nothing but a clueless stare from the man in return.  He decided to sniff him later for alcohol.

Ian smiled at Rachel and reached for her hand and in a near perfect imitation of Tony’s earlier move brushed his lips across her knuckles.  “I am Ian,” he said, making eye contact and keeping it.  “And I am so pleased to meet you.”

Rachel all but twittered under Ian’s attentions and Tony sighed with relief.  “There’s one more,” Tony told her.

“Hmm?  Oh,” Rachel glanced up at Curtis who chose that moment to pick his sun-ripened nose.  “No, no, I’ll take Ian.”

“Excellent,” Tony approved.  He watched as Ian escorted the lady down the stairs then turned to rip Curtis a new one but the other man was already on his way back to his room.  “What’s wrong with you?” Tony asked Raphael instead as he passed him on his way back up as well.

“What?” Raphael asked with a shrug, apparently not concerned in the least by the lost income.

“Put on your tux,” Tony told Caster as he headed back down.  “And be quick about it.”

“Yes, mom,” Caster mocked, none the less taking the stairs two at a time.

Agatha waited for Tony at the foot of the stairs and gazed up at him adoringly.  “You’re very good at this.”

Tony stopped and looked back up the staircase.  “I really am, aren’t I?” he asked in surprise.

***

McGee was nearly knocked over when he stepped off the elevator to enter the bullpen as Abby hit him full force.  Ducky wisely stayed out of the way.

“I’ve been so worried, McGee!  I hate it when you guys go undercover, don’t ever do it again!”

“I’m fine,” McGee insisted, enduring the death grip around his neck as he headed to his desk.  Abby moved with him without releasing her hold like a bizarre Tango, backwards and in platform boots.

“Let him breath, Abs,” Gibbs admonished gently.

“Were you worried?” Abby pulled back to ask.  “Were you scared?  Were you surprised when it was Ducky in the limo?”  She didn’t wait for a reply before grabbing him again and holding on for dear life.

“No, no, and a little bit,” McGee answered in sequence.  “Abby?  You’re wrinkling my suit.”

“Sorry,” Abby muttered but she didn’t let go.

“You okay, Tim?” Kate asked, patting his back to see how well he really could move air through the stranglehold.

“Yeah.  Just, you know.”

“I know,” Kate laughed and went back to her desk to collect her gun and gather her things.  “You do look good.”

“Thanks.”

“Duck, your work here is done.  You might as well head home,” Gibbs said as he helped McGee slip out of Abby’s grasp.  “You, too, Abs.  You’re exhausted.  Let Kate take you home.”

“What about Tony?” McGee asked as he finally got a lungful of air when Gibbs pulled Abby away.

“The FBI has graciously agreed to share monitoring duties,” Kate informed him.

“Yeah, there’s a cute but oh-so-young Fed up there in my lab right now,” Abby groused.

“Abby, technically, we’re all Feds,” Kate leaned in to tell her.

“I know, I just like the way it sounds.  Feds.”

“Well right now the ‘Feds’ are going to read us in to their operation,” Gibbs said with a nod at Fornell who looked pretty comfortable with his feet on Tony’s desk.

McGee did a double take.  He hadn’t noticed Fornell or the Agent standing next to him through his armful of Goth.  When Abby tried to worm her way back in Gibbs intervened and steered her in the direction of the elevator instead.

“Abby, Kate, Ducky go home.  McGee, conference room,” Gibbs ordered.

Abby waved as Kate propelled her into elevator with Ducky following close behind.  “Good night,” Kate called out as the doors closed.

“Be careful!” Abby’s muted voice added from behind the shiny metal.

“You planning to join us, Fornell?” Gibbs asked as he walked off.  “Because if DiNozzo’s desk is that damn comfortable I’m gonna have to requisition him a wooden chair.”

McGee went with Gibbs but looked over his shoulder to see Fornell get to his feet and shoo the other Agent along in front of him.  The other guy looked like a real pencil pusher and McGee got the idea it was going to be a long night.  He hoped Tony at least was going to get a good night’s sleep.

***

For once the after-dinner brandy didn’t lead to drunken debauchery.  Not that Elizabeth necessarily minded debauchery.  It was fine in context so long as it lined her pocketbook and didn’t break the furniture.  But with Ian and Joshua away and Raphael and Curtis up in their room Elizabeth was able to have a peaceful drink with Jeanette and Anthony.  

And didn’t Anthony look smashing sitting there contemplating the meaning of life in the amber liquid he was swirling around his snifter and dodging the not so subtle passes Jeanette was throwing at him.  Even after the successful line-up Elizabeth couldn’t really blame him for being somewhat subdued.  After all his lover was soon to be in the arms of another man if he wasn’t already.

“Anthony,” Elizabeth baited, trying to draw him out.  “Stop thinking about Timothy.  He’s fine.”

He started to deny his worry then shook his head.  “Bitsy?” he asked instead and his eyes finally showed some of their usual humor.

Elizabeth bit back the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue.  It had never bothered her to kick a man while he was down, in fact she often considered it sport.  Except for the moment, no matter how it pained her to admit it, she needed Anthony to bring her rowdy beasts under control.  But oh, how he loved to antagonize her.  

She counted to ten before answering.  “A throwback to the days when I ran in a different circle.  How do you think I have so many social contacts?”

“Here I thought Miss Jeanette made all the deals through the boutique.”

“Hardly,” Jeanette denied, leaning in to rest a hand on Anthony’s forearm.  Much more brandy and she would be in his lap.  “Although I do get lucky from time to time.”

“Like today,” Anthony replied with a half-hearted smile.  Certainly not one of his better ones.  “What about your recruits?  Who finds them?”

“I have _other_ friends as well,” Elizabeth assured him.

Anthony narrowed his eyes and smiled perceptively.  “Old friends?” he asked in a tone that left no doubt he was alluding to her time as a prostitute.

“Very,” she confirmed, determined not to let him get to her.  Not tonight.  

He nodded and returned his gaze to his drink and Elizabeth assumed their little chat was over.  When he looked up again, he was all business.  “We need to talk about Curtis and Raphael.”

Elizabeth bristled but nodded.  As much as she didn’t want a man trying to run her business she respected Anthony’s opinions.  

“They don’t get out of the house much, do they?  Have either of them ever had a date?”

“I told you Raphael has a steady John,” Elizabeth reminded Anthony.  “He meets him once a week.  Since the word got out about our nasty little behavior problem that’s been our only consistent client.  Something I would like to remedy as quickly as possible.”

“How do you know the John?”

“He is a frequent customer at the boutique,” Jeanette noted proudly as she moved her hand from Anthony’s arm to his upper leg.  “A well-known public figure.”

Anthony chuckled softly as he took Jeanette’s hand in his and off his thigh, but it was forced.  “Well known?  Like what?  An actor?  A politician?”

“A congressman,” Jeanette giggled until Elizabeth shushed her crossly.  “We can trust Anthony to keep a secret,” Jeanette insisted.  “Can’t we, my pet?”

“Please, please, please be discrete,” Elizabeth begged as she glared at her oldest and dearest.

Anthony shrugged it off without digging deeper.  “No problem,” he accepted easily.  “What about Curtis?”

“Not a single date,” Elizabeth grumbled, glad to change the subject.  “He’s not worth the salt he sprinkles on his free food.”

“He always manages to do something to make himself unattractive the day of a line-up,” Jeanette explained, too caught up in holding Anthony’s hand to realize that A, she had been expertly diverted from her target area and B, Elizabeth was truly pissed about her slip up.

“Like getting sunburned,” Anthony guessed.  

“Or spraining his ankle, or getting a bad haircut, or… you get the picture.”

Elizabeth harrumphed as she grabbed a pack of Virginia Slims and a lighter out of the drawer on the side table.  “It’s like he doesn’t _want_ to make any money.”

“More like he doesn’t want to do any work,” Anthony said, letting go of Jeanette’s hand to get up and pace thereby avoiding the lighter Elizabeth tried to hand him.  “Why should he, he’s got it made.  He’s got a roof over his head, more toys than he could ever play with, and all the food he can eat.  What he doesn’t _want_ is to put out.”

“He fills out the line-up,” Elizabeth muttered as she lit her own damn cigarette.  “That’s his only saving grace.”

Anthony used the smoke as an excuse to stay on the other side of the parlor.  “Maybe you should try a different kind of guy.”

Elizabeth took a deep drag and let it out slowly.  “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I met your jarhead in the bar.  At least Marines are used to following orders.  What happened to him?”

Jeanette faked a cough and got up to stand with Anthony near the fireplace.  Funny since Elizabeth’s smoke had never bothered the bitch before.  “He didn’t work out.  He took off after about a week.”

“He just left?” Anthony asked in apparent surprise.  “Why?”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and wondered at Anthony’s interest but was willing to indulge it since it took his mind off the Congressman.  “I’m not sure but he had a fist fight with Joshua the day before he left.  Two alpha males butting heads and all that.”

“Really,” Anthony said, moving back to the couch in spite of the smoke and leaving Jeanette in frustration to follow.  “Tell me about that.”

***

“Anytime you’re ready Agent Patel,” Fornell instructed as they gathered around the conference room table.

“This is eyes only,” Patel started, sliding a folder across the table to Gibbs who passed it on to McGee without even glancing at it.  “National security.”

“Yeah, we get to use that one, too,” Gibbs informed Patel.

McGee took possession of the folder and opened it to find a page of warnings and stipulations on top.  He suppressed a sigh and quickly scanned the preliminary stuff.  The rest of the pages were marked heavily with dark lines obscuring parts of the text and leaving very little to read.

Patel did not appear particularly amused by Gibbs.  “We are monitoring an international terrorist at the Fontaine estate.”

“Al Qaeda?” Gibbs asked in surprise.

McGee looked up from the folder.  “Raphael,” he breathed.  “Tony thought there was something off about him.”

“No, not Al Qaeda,” Fornell said with a smirk.  “Provos.”

“Provos?” McGee echoed in confusion.

“The Provisional Irish Republican Army,” Gibbs supplied succinctly.  

“The IRA?”  His confusion grew in leaps and bounds.  “But the Belfast Agreement…”

“Wasn’t even dreamed up yet in the summer of ‘89 when Liam Kelley set off a gasoline bomb in a crowded marketplace,” Fornell replied.  “We think he goes by Ian Lane now.”

“Ian?”  McGee took a moment to let his mind wrap around that.

“Six people died, a dozen more were injured,” Patel took the explanation further.  “Kelley’s been on the run ever since.  We believe he was helped to escape to the U.S. immediately after the incident.”

McGee blinked as he did the math in his head.  “But in 1989 Ian would have been…”

“Fourteen,” Patel agreed.  “That’s probably how he assimilated so completely.”

“Youth does have its advantages,” Gibbs lamented, sharing a commiserating look with Fornell.

“Wow.”  McGee returned his attention to the file with a renewed interest.

“How did you manage to track Kelley to the Fontaine estate after all these years?” Gibbs asked.

Patel cleared his throat and looked to Fornell.

“Tell him.”

“A retired CIA agent who now works as personal security for a certain Congressman…” Patel began uncomfortably.

“Who had a hankering for a little hanky-panky on the down-low,” Fornell cut to the chase earning a glare from his own man.  “What?  We don’t have time for pleasantries.  He sent his guard dog to some foo-foo boutique he’d heard rumors about to make inquiries.”

“Kelley was there being measured by a tailor,” Patel finished with a glower in Fornell’s direction.  “The Congressman’s guy ID’d him and came to us.”

“The guy just happened to recognize a grown-up Kelley?  That seems awfully convenient,” Gibbs mused.

“And dangerous for the Congressman,” McGee agreed.  “Why would this guy risk his job by going to the FBI if it exposed his boss’ illicit activities?”

“The guy?  His last name is McCright.”

Gibbs shrugged.

McGee flipped back a page in the folder.  “One of the victims was a Lena McCright.”

“Bingo,” Fornell said.  “His mother’s sister.  And Mom was all over her government-agent boy to find the perp that blew up his Aunt Lena.”

“It’s personal.”

“Yes, but Agent McCright’s mother died several years back,” Patel explained.  “He’d long since given up trying to find Kelley for her but he never forgot his face.  His only caveat was that he wants to be there when we bring Kelley in.  He feels he owes that to his mother.”

“Whatever,” Fornell said.  “McCright came to us without tipping off his boss.  So, we dangled a young, good looking operative in front of Fontaine’s procurement representative at the men’s store…”

“You have an agent in the house?” Gibbs interrupted accusingly.  “You told me you didn’t.”

“No, _you_ said we didn’t,” Fornell corrected with an unrepentant smirk.  “I just didn’t disagree with you.  And technically, he’s not even ours, he belongs to Interpol.”

“Don’t split hairs, Tobias.  You lied to me.”

“Who’s the agent?” McGee asked.

“Oh, no,” Patel told him firmly.  “Our deal with Interpol stipulated we don’t give up their man to anyone.”

Gibbs glared at Fornell who merely shrugged.

“As I was saying, the Interpol agent had an interview with Mrs. Fontaine,” Fornell continued.  “He indicated he wouldn’t be averse to a male client now and then.  Since she knew a certain Congressman was looking for some of that kind of action, she hired our boy on the spot.”

“When the Congressman finally met with the agent, we arrested him,” Patel finished, stealing Fornell’s thunder.  “Now we use him to set up weekly meetings with the inside man while he tries to verify Ian Lane is in fact Liam Kelley.”

“None of this has anything to do with your dead Marine as far as we can tell,” Fornell said, actually sounding apologetic.  “We realize you have a murder and we have a cold case, however, executing your warrant at this time would bring undue attention to our operation.”

“We have determined that you can still run your op without the warrant,” Patel insisted.  “You just need to leave your men in place longer than you probably anticipated.”

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at Fornell.  “What do you need my men for?”

“The Interpol agent isn’t making a whole lot of progress and he’s already been under for six weeks.  Hell, we don’t even know what his true agenda is.  He may be there to assassinate Kelley for all we know.   We’re hoping your boys can clear things up so we can shut down the brothel and this expensive little operation and move on to something a little more current.”

“You’re really not going to tell us who the agent is?” McGee clarified.

“No,” Patel said as he reached over and retook his case file.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of undercover ops, kid,” Fornell said with a smile.  “Good night, Jethro,” he added as he got up and left with Patel close on his heels.

“What are we going to do?” McGee asked Gibbs, breaking into his repose.

“The same thing we were doing before we knew there was an agent in the house,” Gibbs finally answered.  “Go home, McGee.  There’s no reason you shouldn’t spend the night in your own bed.  You can call a taxi in the morning to take you back.”

“What about Tony?  He’s in with no backup.”

Gibbs didn’t look happy.  “That’s the way he’s used to working undercover, he’ll be careful.  Besides, they don’t expect you back until morning.”

McGee nodded, knowing he wouldn’t sleep.  Maybe he could get some writing done.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Tony didn’t have to fake the yawn, Aggie was boring the pants off him.  No, strike that, he would never be _that_ bored.  On and on and on she went, yak yak yak yak yak.  He glanced over at Elizabeth who looked totally relaxed on the other couch.  Smoking.  Again.  She smiled at him with an evil glint in her eye.  The only reason _she_ was still awake was because she was enjoying watching him squirm.

“…her late husband’s magnificent car collection.  Would you like to see it?”

“Anthony, darling, don’t drift off,” Elizabeth rudely butted in to Tony’s semi-comatose state.  “Jeanette asked you a question.”

“Hmm?  What?” Tony spared a glare for Bitsy before turning to his wardrobe benefactor.  “I’m sorry?”

Agatha gave him a benevolent smile.  “I was asking if you’d like to go out to the garage with me and see Elizabeth’s late husband’s auto collection.”

“Now?” Tony asked, glancing at the Rolex she’d given him.

“No time like the present.”  She smiled even wider and raised an eyebrow suggestively.  

“Ew, uh, I mean, maybe tomorrow.  I’m done for today, I think I’ll turn in.  Ladies.”  He got up abruptly and nodded to them in turn and made a beeline for the hallway.  Stopping at the bottom of the stairs he listened to their continued conversation just until he was convinced it was still as mind numbing as it had been before he left.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs he’d caught a second wind.  He peeked in McGee and Caster’s room but the light was off and all was quiet.  Ian’s room was also dark and the door to the room the other two knuckleheads shared was closed.  There was light shining under the door and music from inside but no conversation.  Not surprising, he’d only heard Curtis mutter a handful of words since he’d been in the house and Raphael was no Chatty Kathy either.

Satisfied everything was status quo, Tony went into his own room and flipped on the light.  A maid had turned down the bed at some point, leaving Gacy perched on the pillows, and put away all the shoes Tony had left scattered around the room after he tried them on.  But he still couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else off, like someone had touched everything and returned it close to the same spot but not exactly.  Maybe Marissa had dusted.  

“Lucy, I’m home,” he sing-songed, making his way straight to the bathroom to do a little business before calling in.  He lifted the lid to the toilet and startled to find his other watch and his wire submerged in the water in the bowl thereby rendering them useless to call for help.  But the shaving cream can still sat innocuously on the sink just out of reach.

As he grabbed for it time took on a slow-mo quality and he caught a glimpse of his attacker in the mirror even as the baseball bat connected with the back of his head.  A blinding pain lanced out in all directions and left him stunned and unable to defend himself.  Things just got bizarre from there.

Luckily the second and third blows were more glancing as he toppled and he surmised they would be much fuzzier in his memory.  Later, if he really tried, he would probably remember flashes of hitting the sink with his face and the brutal kicks to the ribs and stomach once he hit the floor.  But he would never, ever, even under duress, attempt to recall puking the blood or how he lost control of his full bladder just as everything went black.

***

Had he been at his post, the baby-faced FBI agent surely would have recognized the sounds of a short-lived assault even if it was a little tinny.  But he was a newbie and sleepy and hadn’t actually heard human voices in hours, and Abby’s lab was a wonderland of interesting things.  He was particularly taken with her sound system.

***

McGee fidgeted in the back of the taxi until they were well past the gate house even though the guard had waved them through without a fuss.  But he had also made a crude remark about Tim’s supposed night out and it was hard not to take it personally.  It was even harder not to meet the driver’s amused eyes in the mirror.  McGee knew he wasn’t the guy they thought he was but it still bothered him.  A lot.

He vowed to someday play the game as cool as DiNozzo did.  Nothing seemed to get to Tony when he was undercover.  Nothing threw him, he just rolled with the punches.  In his own way Tony was a lot like Gibbs and it was impossible not to look up to him a little, even if McGee swore he’d never admit it out loud.    

The sun was just coming up as they pulled in and most of the big mansion stood in darkness.  When McGee got out, he slammed the door a lot harder than he intended and it echoed like thunder in the early morning air.  He started to wince but played it off as a yawn instead.  

Maybe Tim McGuire didn’t care if he woke up a house full of sleeping people.  Yeah.  Maybe Tim McGuire was a self-absorbed jerk.  Yeah, that was it.  He could act any way he wanted.

“Keep it,” McGee told the driver as he made a show of peeling a ten and a twenty off the wad of cash in his pocket.  Tim McGuire was a _flashy_ self-absorbed jerk.  Yeah.

“Thanks, buddy!” the driver exclaimed as he drove away.

“Not so smug now, are you?” McGee muttered as he turned to make his way up the steps.  At the top, as expected, one of the maids opened the door before he could even try the lock.  Good thing since he didn’t have a key.

“Good morning, Mister Timothy.”

“Good morning.” McGee responded generically since he had no idea what to call her.  He wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen her before and wondered if the staff had names and pictures of the boys posted somewhere for reference.  He decided maybe later he would check out the kitchen to find out.

“Would you like me to run a bath for you?”

“Uh... No thanks,” McGee replied, smoothing the wrinkles out of his suit.  He resisted the urge to ask why she thought he needed a bath but the answer was evident enough in the way she looked at him.  He found himself holding back a groan because Tim _McGee_ was embarrassed by his cover story.  “I’m gonna... go,” he told her and made a break for it.

Much to his surprise there were voices coming from the dark dining room.  Angry voices.  McGee glanced up the stairs but detoured through the hall instead.  He approached the room quietly and stood just outside the door.

“All I’m saying is you can’t keep doing this, man,” Raphael whispered.  “It affects all of us.”

“I’m telling you for the last time, mind your own fucking business.”  Curtis barreled out of the room and ran right into McGee.  “Hey, look who’s home,” he said as he caught McGee by the arms to keep them both from falling.  The man appeared wiry but proved deceptively strong for his height and weight.

“Hey,” McGee greeted, trying to break free of the grasp without looking pathetic.  But Curtis just dug in and got a better hold.  “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is you don’t even join the line-up?  Who do you think you are?” Curtis growled at him.  “What’s going _in_ is you.  In the pool that is.”

Then Raphael was on him too, argument or not.  They wrestled him out the French doors and over to the edge of the pool.  McGee fought for all he was worth but the most he managed was to make them work for it.  He hit the water hard at an awkward angle but he held his breath and surfaced without any problem.  Except for the pang in his chest as he watched the dislodged earwig sink slowly to the bottom through the crystal blue water.  

Best buds again, Curtis and Raphael laughed raucously and wandered back into the house.  Assholes.  Why were they even awake?  McGee watched them go as he treaded water and took a few deep breaths before diving down to retrieve his ruined piece of technology.  He had the feeling Gibbs was going to start docking his pay.

***

“Hey!” Abby shouted over the music as she rushed into her lab.  “Turn that crap off!”  If she hadn’t been so furious, she might have seen the irony.  She put her purse down and slapped off the power button and the lab went silent.

“What?” the suddenly not so cute Fed asked as he spun around to see what all the commotion was.

“How can you monitor the audio feed if you can’t hear it?” Abby was pissed and couldn’t be bothered to adjust her own volume.

“Don’t yell, lady, they haven’t...”

“ _Don’t..._ call me lady,” Abby snarled, raising a warning finger.

“Okay, geez.  But they haven’t...” he tried again.

“They?   _They?_ They have names, you know!  They are Special Agents Timothy McGee and Anthony DiNozzo.”

He sat and glared at her while he waited for her to get over her fit of rage.

“Well?” Abby prodded, the fit far from over.

“Are you done?”

Abby leaned in close.  “I haven’t even started yet,” she threatened in a low, husky voice.  “And I would _not_ want to be you when Agent Gibbs gets started.”  A flashing light on one of her monitors momentary caught her attention.

“That started last night,” the Fed told her when he noticed where she was looking.  “I was going to ask...”

“Shut it, Fed,” Abby snapped as she went to check it out.  “We’re in!  Yes, baby, yes,” she told the computer.  “I’ll be with you in a minute.  First I have to deal with this loser.”

“Look.”  The guy stopped and bit his tongue then managed to turn his attitude around to something a little less defensive.  “There was nothing to hear, okay?  All _three_ wires from DiNozzo have been silent _all_ night.  The guy’s been asleep for _hours.”_

Abby grudgingly reigned herself in a little as well.  “What about McGee?”  

“I have already established communications with Agent McGee this morning.  He was safely en route a few minutes ago, but he should be there by now.”  The Fed reached over and turned up the sound on the two-way transmitter just in time to hear a lot of grunting followed by a loud splash.  The FBI agent looked to Abby in confused horror.

“Oh, _Houston,”_ Abby sighed as she reached for the phone to call Gibbs.  

***

McGee squeezed as much water out of his jacket as he could before entering the house through the kitchen so he wouldn’t dribble on the hardwood floors this time.  He didn’t have it in him to add to the household staff’s chores so apparently neither did McGuire.  He could live with that.  Self-absorption wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  Unfortunately, he did leave little puddles behind him but at least the kitchen floor was tile.

“Sorry,” he told the chef as he passed him.  “So sorry,” he added for the maid who had let him in.  “Careful, wet floor,” he warned the other kitchen employees who came over to see what was going on.  “Sorry.”

He found the back stairs situated just the kitchen side of the enormous butler’s pantry that led to the dining room.  And as he’d earlier surmised there were labeled face shots of each of Elizabeth’s boys posted over a desk in the corner.  The photos were apparently taken on the sly from inside Suitably Impressed including one of himself he had definitely not posed for.  

Edmunds’ picture was still up beside the others with ‘Mister Nicholas’ written in marker across the bottom.  McGee took a moment to take a good look at it and remind himself why they were here.  Forget about the FBI and the IRA and Interpol.  He was here for this Marine.  

“Ahem.”

McGee glanced up sheepishly at the chef when he realized he was dripping on the week’s menu.  “Sorry,” he muttered again.  His resolve was restored so he headed up the stairs to get out of his wet clothes and get Tony up to speed.

***

Gibbs glared at the petulant FBI agent in silence as Abby fiddled with her keyboard some more.

“Only one of the four transmitters is sending a signal,” she said at long last.  “Judging from the sounds I’d say it’s the one in the shaving cream can.”

“What kind of sounds?” Gibbs asked, finally turning his back on the FBI screw-up.

“A toilet flushing, footsteps on a hard floor, lots of water running.”

“DiNozzo is shaving?”

“No.”  Abby shook her head adamantly.  “Tony knows we can hear him.  He talks, he sings, he makes X-rated jokes.  Whoever is in the bathroom it’s not Tony.”

Trusting Abby’s judgment Gibbs pulled out his phone.

“I tried his cell.  Eight times.  He’s not picking up.”  Abby wrung her hands as she stared into Gibbs’ eyes.

“He’s okay, Abs,” Gibbs tried to comfort.  “You know DiNozzo, he’s just out of touch.  What have you got on the replay?”

“Well, there are nine and a half hours on the tape I started before I left the lab last night, so let’s see...”  Abby pretended to do long division in the air.  “It’ll take... huh, nine and a half hours to listen to it.  Maybe we should have had someone monitor the feed in real time,” she said turning up the sarcasm as she adding her glower to Gibbs’ in the Fed’s direction.  “Oh wait, we tried that.”

“What’d I miss?” Kate asked cheerfully as she entered the lab.  Her face fell when she took in the abundant tension in the room.  “Uh oh.”

“The FBI lost Tony,” Abby told her, pulling her in for a despondent hug.

“We don’t know that he’s lost,” the FBI agent started to argue but clamped his mouth shut with one look from Gibbs.

Kate pulled back but held on to Abby’s forearms.  “Where’s McGee?”

“He went swimming again,” Abby explained fretfully.  “We don’t have contact with him either.”

“What are we going to do?” Kate asked Gibbs point blank.

“Warrant or no warrant, we’re going in,” Gibbs decided.  

“You can’t do that,” the FBI lackey protested.

“You!” Gibbs cut him off.  “You will listen to every second of that tape until it’s finished.”

“But that will take like ten hours and I’ve already been up for twenty-four,” the Fed protested as he stood up.

Gibbs jumped right into his personal space.  “I don’t care if it takes ten years,” he growled.  “Anything, and I mean _anything_ makes so much as a peep you call Abby over here to listen to it.  Do you read me?”

“Y...yes sir.”

“ _Don’t..._ call me sir,” Gibbs added testily as he collected Kate and headed for the door.  “Abs, keep monitoring the real time feed and break that damn code...”

“I broke it, it’s broke.  The computer broke it,” Abby clarified.  “You should probably take a look before you go.”

“Make it quick.”

Abby nodded and let the super-secret contents of Agatha’s computer do a slide-show on the big screen.  “What’s not on it is anything to do with Elizabeth’s little black book.”

“What is that?”

“Lots of stuff.  Bad stuff, like stuff to blow stuff up stuff...  some as yet unknown work schedules, manpower reports, bomb schematics, blueprints to a large building... there.”  She clicked and stopped the data on the floor plan of what looked like a lobby.  “I’m trying to match it to known D.C. structures...”

“You don’t have to,” Fornell said as he entered the lab unexpectedly.  “That’s the J. Edgar Hoover Building.”

“Are you sure?” Abby asked, turning her head ninety degrees to get another angle on it.

“Are you surprised I recognize my own building from blueprints?”

“No, she’s surprised you can see that from the door at your age.  What are you doing here?”

Fornell huffed but didn’t take the bait.  “I came to tell you to go serve your warrant.  We’re having Ian Lane picked up this morning by the local LEOs while he’s away from the estate.”

“On what charges?”

“Prostitution.”

“What will that accomplish?” Gibbs asked, checking his watch with his usual degree of patience.

“Fingerprints will tell us if he’s... who we think he is,” Fornell responded cryptically.  “Are you taking medicine or what?”

“I need to get over to the Fontaine estate to find my missing agent.”

“DiNutso?”  Frowning, Fornell looked to his young agent.  “You didn’t,” he groaned.

“Oh yeah, he did,” Gibbs confirmed irritably.  “Thanks for sending us a probie.”

“He’s not a probie,” Fornell denied.  “Any more.”

“Yeah, _three weeks_ off probation,” Abby chimed in.  “What?  I checked.”

“I’ll handle him, you go,” Fornell told Gibbs by way of an apology.  “I should call the office and let them know our security may have been breached.  It wouldn’t hurt to run an explosives dog through the building either.”

Gibbs nodded brusquely and ushered Kate out the door.

The young Fed turned to Fornell to plead his case as soon as they were gone.  “That guy wants me to listen to every minute of this ten-hour tape...”

“He’s exaggerating,” Abby butted in.  “It’s only nine and a half.  Technically, it’s nine hours and twenty-three minutes.”

“Whatever.  I already know there’s nothing on it.  It’ll take me all day to listen.”

“You’d better get started,” Fornell told him coolly, picking up Abby’s phone to call in.

“You’re getting off easy,” Abby grumbled to the younger Fed as she turned back to her computer.

“Don’t count on it,” Fornell replied.  “I just need a little time to come up with an appropriate punishment.”

***

McGee opened Tony’s door and peeked in.  There was movement in the bathroom and the bed was already made so he backed out and went to change instead.  No need to get Tony started on him about getting thrown in the pool again.  He’d find out soon enough.

Ian and Caster were nowhere to be found and the other two were still downstairs somewhere so McGee decided to take another quick shower to wash the chlorine out of his hair.  Surely Tony would be dressed and ready by the time he was done.

Fifteen minutes later in dry jeans and a polo shirt he crossed the hall to Tony’s room.  

“Timothy!  Darling!” Elizabeth called to him as she rushed down the hall still putting on her earrings.  “Thank God _one_ of you made it home!”

“One of...?” McGee questioned.

“Ian and Joshua have been arrested!” she exclaimed as she slowed down enough to kiss him on the cheek before bustling on.  “Jeanette’s swinging back around in the limo to pick me up and we’re going downtown to bail them out.  Tell Anthony to hold down the fort.”

“Will do.”  McGee watched the madam disappear down the hall in a blur of white and gold couture.  That explained where those two jokers were, they had been the lucky winners in last night’s dating game.  If Ian had been arrested they could serve their warrant and his first undercover op would be over.  

Already in front of Tony’s room he tapped on the door twice before entering.  Marissa met him on her way out with a mop and bucket.  “Hi,” he greeted.

“Mister Anthony isn’t here,” Marissa told him worriedly.

“Where is he?” McGee asked, immediately picking up on her vibe which kicked his own apprehension into overdrive.

“I don’t know.  But he was very sick.”

“Tony was sick?”

“Yes.  He vomited on the floor in there.”

McGee rushed to the bathroom to see for himself but all he found was well scrubbed, still wet fixtures and flooring.  “Where is he now,” he spun around to ask.

“I don’t know, but Mister Timothy, there was urine... and blood.”

“Call nine one one,” McGee instructed as he began a search of the room, for what, he didn’t know.  But if there was a clue to Tony’s whereabouts, he was going to find it.

“That won’t be necessary,” Raphael told Marissa, catching her by the arm as she went for the phone.  “Tony is fine.  Way too much to drink last night, that’s all.  We had a good time.”

Marissa stared at his hand on her arm then eyed him distrustfully as he spoke a few words to her in Spanish.  His tone was pleasant but she didn’t look overjoyed by what he said.  She nodded and pulled her arm away from him then sent a fleeting look to McGee before taking her cleaning supplies and leaving.

“So, you do speak Spanish,” McGee accused, not quite certain where that would get him other than to let Raphael know he was on to him.  Or maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.  

But Raphael seemed to shrug it off.  “Come on, I’ll show you where Tony is.  We’re going to have a ping pong tournament later.  He’s setting things up in the basement.”

McGee didn’t believe him for a second.  He glanced around the room once more and his gaze briefly fell on the monkey on the bed but he averted his eyes so Raphael wouldn’t notice his interest.  But when he turned back Raphael had a gun in his hand and a finger to his lips warning McGee to keep silent.

“We can do a doubles tournament to start with,” Raphael kept talking as he quietly closed the door and motioned McGee toward the wall.  “That way everyone can play.”

Starting with concern McGee finally figured out what he wanted and sighed as he assumed the universal position so Raphael could frisk him.  Not that he would find anything, his earwig was drying out in his room.

“Sounds like fun,” McGee said with a grunt when Raphael prodded him to say something with a poke in the ribs with the gun.

“Let’s go,” Raphael threw an arm around McGee’s shoulder and pulled him close enough to keep the gun hidden.  Once they were out of the room Raphael leaned in close.  “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care.  But you are not going to mess up my investigation.”  With that he began a Spanish ballad, smiling broadly as they made their way to the back stairs.

McGee played along.  At least they would find Tony.  He hoped.

***

Suddenly the bathroom noises stopped and a minute later there were distant voices.  She tagged the recording for analysis later and adjusted the volume.  If she could tweak the quality... there, she could make out some of what they were saying... McGee.  

One of the voices was definitely McGee but the other was much higher.  A woman.  Tony was sick?  Tim’s frantic call for nine-one-one was interrupted by another voice, a man.  But was it Tony?  No, this guy had some kind of accent.  Tony got drunk enough to puke?  Abby doubted that but McGee wasn’t putting up a fuss.

“Uh... Abby?  Miss Sciuto?”  The Fed finally learned some manners but Abby ignored him anyway.  She was busy.  “Oh crap.”  

That got her attention.  Abby left McGee on his way to a ping pong tournament and took the offered headphones.  “You listen to this, Junior,” she instructed, pointing to the live feed.  “Listen!”

“I will,” the Fed promised.  “And my name’s not Junior, it’s...”

Abby slipped on the headphones blocking out the newbie’s name.   _Lucy, I’m home!_ “That’s Tony.”  She noted the time and held her breath as she continued to listen.  “Oh.  Oh crap.”

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she reared back to punch the Fed in the face but the face she was prepared to punch wasn’t the Fed.  “Ducky!  Tony’s in big trouble,” she blurted out, setting the headphones aside to grab Ducky’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” Ducky asked.

“There was hitting and falling and kicking and puking,” Abby explained in a rush.

“You could tell all that just by listening once?”

“Stay out of this, Junior!” Abby yelled as she grabbed for her phone.  “Tony’s hurt!  We have to call Gibbs!”

Ducky leaned over and hit the video intercom unit as Abby speed dialed.  

“Doctor Mallard,” Palmer greeted instantly with a warm smile.

“Mister Palmer, get the truck and be quick about it,” Ducky ordered.  “We’re going to Fairfax.”

“Do we have a body?”

“I hope not, Jimmy, I certainly hope we do not.”  Ducky patted Abby’s back and hurried out of the lab.

“Gibbs!” Abby cried into the phone.  “You’ve got to drive faster, there was a fight last night ... I don’t know, Tony and somebody...  No, I heard McGee a few minutes ago, he sounds okay... Yeah, yeah, I will... Gibbs?  Gibbs?  Okay, bye,” she added to dead air.  She stared at the phone as she hung up sending as many optimistic thoughts as possible Tony’s way.

“I did miss something.”

“Not now, Junior,” Abby sighed before realizing how bad the Fed sounded.  She looked up and saw him hanging his head.  “Anyone could have missed that,” she soothed but couldn’t stop herself from adding, “You know, unless they were actually _listening.”_

Junior looked strickened as the weight of his blunder finally hit him.  “What if he’s dead?”

“Tony’s not dead!”  Abby denied. “Don’t even think that, you’re mucking up my flow of positive energy here.”

“What if he is?  That was around midnight and if I’d called in the cavalry then this would all be over now.”

Abby didn’t have an answer for that but at the moment Junior was beating himself up enough for both of them.  She squeezed his arm.  “Tony’s not dead.  He can’t be.  Gibbs would kill him.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

McGee played his part and smiled at the kitchen staff as they reached the bottom of the stairs.  He didn’t want anyone to get hurt.  “Where now?” he asked quietly with a phony smile pasted on his face.  

“To the right,” Raphael muttered between choruses.  Along the way they’d fallen into the old standard of two drunks holding each other up even though it was a quarter to nine in the morning.  Apparently, the staff was used to such displays because no one batted an eye as they rounded the corner.  Instead of going out into what appeared to be an oversized garage they stopped in front of a door.

“Wine cellar?” McGee guessed as he let go of Raphael and opened the door.  He felt for the light switch and flipped it on.  

Without an audience Raphael dropped the drunk act.  “Go.” 

McGee did as instructed and soon reached the bottom of the wooden stairs.  “Tony’s down here?”

“Keep going.”  Raphael motioned with his gun.

“You’re the Interpol Agent,” McGee guessed as they made their way among the large racks of wine bottles.

“ _You_ are FBI?” Raphael asked in disbelief.

“NCIS.”

“Aw, the Marine.  That was unfortunate.  Stop here.”  He pointed to a rack along the back wall.  

McGee glanced at the empty rack but it was just like all the others.  “You killed him?”

“Not me, but after the fact there was nothing I could do.  Move this away from the wall, there.”

On closer inspection McGee could make out a small door behind the rack but he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been looking for it.

“You didn’t do anything about the murder, just kept your mouth shut and your cover intact,” McGee snorted with disdain as he put his back into it and scooted the rack away from the door with a great deal of noise.  “That’s cold.”

“I’m supposed to see my handler tomorrow.  I would have told him.”

“What about Tony?  Is he dead, too?”

“Not yet.  I suppose he is NCIS as well.”  Raphael fished a key out of his pocket and handed it to McGee to unlock the now visible and very shiny padlock.  

“Look, we’ll be serving a warrant any minute since Ian’s in custody.  You might as well let us go.”  McGee fumbled with the key in the dim light.

“What’s Ian got to do with this?”  He didn’t wait for an answer.  “Give me until tonight and I’ll get you out.”

“Don’t you think Elizabeth will be looking for us in the meantime?”  The sharp new edges grated in the lock but it finally opened with a snick.

“Not at all.  Tony couldn’t take seeing his lover with another man so you ran off together this morning.”  Raphael took the lock.  

McGee twisted the rusty doorknob from side to side until it finally gave.  “Right.  You’ve got good ears.”

Raphael shrugged and pushed at the door.  “I am a spy, listening is what I do best.  I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for your friend.”

As the door creaked open McGee spotted Tony lying on his side on the floor.  When he rushed to him Raphael pulled it closed behind him.  

“Don’t waste your breath shouting for help,” Raphael advised from the other side sounding awfully muffled, “No one will hear you.”  The rack being moved back in place came through loud and clear.

The ten by ten room housed the remains of an ancient sump pump otherwise there was nothing but a swinging light bulb overhead and Tony and his jacket in the dust on the floor.  The air was musty with just a hint of urine and vomit.   

“Tony?” McGee closed his eyes and felt the cool, clammy skin of Tony’s neck for a pulse only remembered to breathe again when he found one.

“Ow,” Tony groaned.  “Did you get the number?” he rasped out softly as he stirred.

“Yeah, Tony,” McGee whispered, knowing where Tony was going and grateful he could still joke.  “I got the number of the truck that ran you over.”

“Good.  I feel like s... shit,” Tony slurred and stuttered at the same time.  Not a good sign.

“You look like shit,” McGee agreed as he squatted down to roll Tony onto his back so he could get a look at him.  

“T... thanks.”  Tony gasped but allowed the inspection, flinching whenever McGee hit an especially sore spot.  He flinched a lot and his lungs sounded bad with his increased respirations.

“I think a couple of these ribs might be broken.”

“Yeah, they f... feel broken on the inside, too.”  Tony gritted his teeth as McGee pressed gently on his abdomen.  

“Sorry. I’m afraid you may have some internal damage.”  McGee looked away so Tony could wipe the moisture from his bruised and swollen eyes.

“Locked in?” Tony glanced around as he recovered from the examination but he was still breathing hard.

“Yeah.  And this is the only way in or out.”  McGee sat back on his heels and sighed.  Not much of a rescue.  

“You okay, Probie?” Tony asked with concern.  

McGee laughed to keep from crying himself.  “I’m not the one beat to hell.”

“Count your blessings,” Tony mumbled.  He suppressed a cough as he tried to raise up enough to see McGee’s face.  

“Lay back,” McGee chastised around the lump in his throat.  “I’m okay.” He sat down on the cold concrete and pulled Tony’s head into his lap. “You’re going into shock,” he explained before Tony could protest the cradling.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, surprising McGee by accepting the comfort without a fuss or a joke.  “D...don’t worry, Gibbs’ll come get us.”

“I know.”  McGee reached out until his fingertips brushed Tony’s jacket.  One more little stretch and he had it, tugging it to him and spreading it over Tony’s shoulders.  “Don’t go to sleep,” he told him.

Tony coughed a little more but the fine tremors that had wracked his body seemed to be fading.  “Because with a head injury I might not wake up.  I know the drill.  So brief me, P...probalicious.  What’d the FBI not tell us?”

***

Mitchell Gellar spent a lot of time at the gate these days.  He went down to his office at the main house when he had to but watching those young punks trash Mister Fontaine’s home really stuck in his craw.  And he didn’t even want to _think_ about the crazy widow and her transgender sidekick running the place.  

For the hundredth time since the old man died Gellar opened the paper to the want ads.  He’d been around a long time but he just couldn’t stomach what was going on inside the high brick walls these days.

Willy walked back up from the street shaking his head.  “They’re gone,” he said.

“You sure they didn’t just move?” Gellar asked.  “Or change cars?”

“Nope,” Willy insisted.  “There ain’t nobody watching the house today.”

Gellar shrugged and went back to his paper.  

“If you say so.”

“I wonder what they wanted anyway.”

“Who cares as long as they did it from the street.”

Car tires spun on the pavement and Gellar had to give Willy credit, he didn’t know the boy could move that fast.  The kid jumped out of the way and into the bushes as a dark blue sedan came screeching into the drive.  

“Whoa!  Hold on,” Gellar shouted as he came out of the gatehouse and put his own substantial heft between the car and the gate.

“Here’s your damn warrant,” the grey-haired man from before roared back at him as he waved a document out the window.  Gellar recognized him but couldn’t remember if he was from the local PD or the FBI.  CID?  No, NCIS, that was it.  

Gellar motioned for Willy to come around and get the piece of paper.  He did, but with a great deal of caution.  Willy brought it to him and Gellar opened it to read without stepping out from the front of the vehicle.  Yep, that was a warrant all right.  

“Open the damn gate.”

“Hold your horses, Sir.  Let me call up to the...” he stopped as the man jumped out of the car and rounded on him.  “Sir, get back in the vehicle,” Gellar warned, bowing his chest in a show of power.  But the smaller man seemed impervious.  And he was surely pissed off about something.

“You ever lose any men in combat?” the man asked, holding his anger in and his identification out.

“A few, Agent Gibbs,” Gellar read the name off the ID, wondering what the hell that had to do with this.

“Two of my men are in that house.”

“No way, nobody got past us.”

“They’re undercover and we have lost contact,” Gibbs shouted, losing what little patience he had shown.  “There has already been one death.”

Gellar shook his head.  He didn’t believe that.  “Who?”

“Nicholas Edmunds, he was a Marine.”

Gellar thought about it.  “Yeah, I figured that’s who you were looking for last time you were here.  What makes you think he’s dead?”

“The autopsy was pretty conclusive.  His body washed up on the shores of the Potomac a week ago.  Now you can either open that gate or I can run through it... and you.”  The threat wasn’t made lightly.

Another car pulled in behind them and a balding man about the same age stepped halfway out.  “Jesus, Jethro, how freaking fast were you driving?  FBI,” he said to Willy as he also flashed credentials.  Another black car pulled up and two cop cars joined it in the street.

“If I lose either of my men...” Gibbs growled.

“Open it,” Gellar told Willy and then followed Gibbs around the car and opened the back door.

Gibbs gave him a look but didn’t ask.  This man knew the unwritten code, you don’t leave your men behind.  They understood each other.

“I know this house backwards and forwards.  I can help.”  Gellar left off the _Sir_ out of respect.

“Let’s go!” the man from the car behind shouted, honking his horn.  But Gibbs didn’t need the encouragement, he barely let the gate open before flying through.

***

“It’s not Ian.” Tony was putting up a good front but he sounded puny.  Even if they’d been in total darkness and his head wasn’t resting in McGee’s lap, without complaint no less, McGee would have known something was wrong from his voice alone.

“The FBI says it is.”  McGee believed Tony of course.  But the best way to keep him awake was to start an argument, even if he did feel a little guilty for riling him up when he wasn’t at the top of his game.

“Yeah, and the FBI has never been wrong,” Tony scoffed.  “I know Curtis is the one who took me out.  I saw his ugly mug in the mirror right before he smacked me with a baseball bat.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a shoe.”

“Cute.”

“Let’s say Curtis _is_ the bad guy...”

“He _is.”_

“So why is Raphael helping him?”

“Because that’s what you do when you go undercover.  You make friends with your mark, you earn their trust.”  Tony spoke slower with each word.  He sounded like he was about to drift off.

“Like throwing me in the pool again.”  That was guaranteed to keep Tony talking.

“What?  When?”

“This morning,” McGee admitted with a fake sigh.  

“Smart.”

“Yeah, somehow I knew you would enjoy that.”

“Don’t be such a girl.  One of them searched my room and found the wire.  He was also savvy enough to recognize the watch as bogus.  But I’ve got to give Abby the shaving cream, that was genius.” Tony paused.  “Wait.  Where was I going with this?”

“They thought I might be wired, too.  By throwing me in the pool they neutralized any electronic devices without outing themselves.”

“Yeah.  That must have been it,” Tony mused.  He’d been going off on tangents a lot and it seemed to bother him.

“Raphael is just _pretending_ to be a bad guy?”

“God, I hope so.  Otherwise we are so screwed,” Tony said with more worry than he probably meant to let slip.  “You know, until Gibbs gets here,” he added with more confidence.

McGee honestly couldn’t tell if Tony was blowing smoke or not.  While he thought about it Tony got quiet again.  “Come on, Tony.  Stay with me.”

“McGee?”

“Yeah?”

“As senior field agent...”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I’m turning command of this operation over to you.”

McGee waited for the punch line but Tony didn’t say anything else.  “Really?” he finally asked.

“Yeah.”

“Um... Why?”

“So I can get a little shut eye.”

“Well, as acting commander of this operation I’m ordering you to stay awake.”

“Damn.  That didn’t work out at all like I planned.”  Tony wheezed out a laugh and McGee knew he was trying to be entertaining so he laughed along with him.

“Did you ever play act when you were a kid?” McGee asked, going in a different direction.  After all, Tony did like to talk about himself.

“Sure.  All the time.”  Tony answered somewhat belatedly.

“What did you pretend to be?”  There was a long pause and McGee actually considered jostling Tony a little to wake him up.

“Wanted,” Tony finally said wistfully.

“By the police?”

Tony’s eyes jerked open and he winced.  “Yeah, by the police,” he answered uncomfortably.  He made a show of settling back down before closing his eyes again.

McGee puzzled over the strange reaction.  Kids played cops and robbers all the time but nobody ever really wanted to be the bad guy.  Surely not a young Anthony DiNozzo who would grow up to develop an overactive hero complex.  Suddenly he realized what Tony had meant, moreover, that Tony wouldn’t have said it out loud if he’d been thinking straight.

“I’m sure your parents wanted you, Tony,” he whispered, but Tony was too busy pretending to be asleep to respond.  McGee tugged the jacket higher around Tony’s shoulder and rested his hand there.  He’d give him a few minutes.  It was the least he could do.

***

Tom McCright never really believed this moment would come.  The FBI sent for him as soon as the police picked up Liam Kelly and now he stood with one of the agents while the police herded a group of young thugs in for a line-up.

He moved to the window and frowned as he looked from face to unfamiliar face.  “What the hell?”

“Take your time,” the agent patronized.  “Then please go ahead and identify Liam Kelly for us.”

McCright snorted.  He had spent years chasing Kelly, he saw his face in his dreams still.  “I would love to, if he was in there.”

***

Gibbs parked haphazardly then got out of the car quickly with Kate and Gellar on his heels as he headed up the front steps.  “Get all the employees out of there,” he told Gellar.  “I want them together on the lawn while we search.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Gellar said, trotting ahead to speak to the maid opening the door.

“Kate, organize the PD and FBI to search by floor...”

“Gibbs!”

“What, Fornell?” Gibbs stopped to turn around and ask.

“I just got word that Ian Lane is not Liam Kelly.  And neither is Caster.”

“Great,” Gibbs grumbled as he pulled his weapon.  “Kate, help Gellar get those people out of the house.  This could get ugly, we don’t need a bunch of potential hostages floating around.  Fornell,” he said with a resigned sigh, “You’re with me.”

Fornell grinned as he also took out his gun.

***

“Tony?”

“Aw, Mom,” Tony groaned without opening his eyes.  “Another five minutes.”

“Tony, I’m serious.”  And McGee sounded serious, too.  

Still, it hurt a lot less with his eyes closed.  At least that’s what he told himself.  “I’m awake.  I’m just resting.”

“Somebody’s coming.”  Now McGee sounded worried, too.  There was a scraping or dragging sound just outside the door.

“Oh.  Ow.  Help me up,” Tony said, letting McGee tug him to a sitting position.  Mistake.  He damn near passed out.

“Tony?”

“Head rush,” Tony explained, panting a little.

McGee grasped him under the arms and pulled him back into the corner.  It was all Tony could do not to scream, or maybe he did scream.  It was hard to tell, the dizziness made him incoherent for a minute.  Or... longer since the door was suddenly open and someone was standing in the doorway.  Not somebody good if McGee’s posture was anything to go by.

McGee positioned himself between Tony and the mystery guest and it was touching, really, but Tony wasn’t so out of it he needed the probie to protect him.  Much.  He slumped down the wall, not entirely on purpose and ow.  Ow, ow, ow.  Not all bad though because now he could see somebody’s feet as they dumped an armful of stuff on the floor.  His stuff.

“...doesn’t travel light, does he...”  What?  Who was talking?  Oh.  Raphael.  He’d recognize that cheesy accent if he was in a coma, which apparently was the next step if he didn’t snap out of it.

“That’ss my sthuff.”  Never would he be so out of it he wouldn’t recognize his own toiletry bag.  Butter-soft leather.  Hand stitched.  It was a college graduation gift from his favorite aunt and had cost her a mint even back then.  He loved that bag.  He wanted to be buried with that bag.  It wasn’t Louis Vuitton but still...

He flinched as someone tapped his cheek and brought him out of his pleasant bag-reminiscing daze.

“Come on Tony, that’s it.” Oh right, McGee.

“What’d I mish?” Tony asked, not sure why his voice sounded like that.

McGee was pulling on him again and it hurt like a bitch but Tony went with it.  Not like he could do anything about it anyway.  There, that _was_ better even if it still hurt a little.  But a little was better than a lot.  A lot better.   And McGee was talking again.  

“...brought just enough of our stuff to make it look like we ran away...”

“Huh?”

“Tony!  I’ve got your monkey!”

Okay, brain damage or no brain damage, _that_ was funny.  “It sounds so dirty when you say it like that,” Tony drawled.  At least he tried to drawl.  “Give it to me.”

“No way.  You’re in no shape.”  McGee was standing up to him?  Good for McGee.  Bad timing.

“Hey, I’m the s... s... senior field agent...”

“Who turned command of the operation over to me.”  

Damn. “I knew I wasss gonna live to regret that.”

He was being covered and something soft and leathery was placed under his head.  A warm hand cupped his cheek.  “You asked me to trust you, Tony.  But trust is a two-way street.”

“I trust you, McGee,” Tony said.  At least he thought he said it out loud before the scent of leather drew him back to the happy, pain-free world of luggage in his head.

***

Since there was no intercom, they resorted to rounding the staff up one by one and it turned out to be a lot like herding cats.  People kept popping out of the woodwork.  Kate thought she saw another one duck out of the kitchen through the reflection off the stainless-steel refrigerator but she didn’t have a direct line of site due to the stairway.  She motioned to Gellar as he sent the chef and his crew packing.  He joined her as she rounded the corner toward the garage.

“What’s in there?” Kate asked, stopping in front of a strange door that didn’t look deep enough to be anything but a closet.

“Wine cellar.” 

Kate pulled her gun. “Stay here.”  

Gellar positioned himself beside the door and nodded to her once before opening it.  She nodded back and started down the stairs.  Gellar stayed with her in spite of her instructions otherwise.

“How would someone get a body off the estate without being seen?” Kate questioned as they searched the cellar one rack at a time.

“Trash truck, landscaping vehicle.  Trunk of a car.”

“Are there any cars other than Mrs. Fontaine’s limo?”

“Sure.  There’s a whole garage full of ‘em.  They’re not ever supposed to leave but occasionally one of those punks will try to ride off in one.”

“They ever make it out in one?”

“If they did it didn’t get reported.  I suppose they could have paid off one of my guards.”

Kate stored the information for later.  “This is a lot of wine.  You see anything?”

“Nope.”

“Me either.”

Gellar stopped and looked around with a perplexed expression on his face.  

“What?” Kate asked.

“I haven’t been down here in years, but I thought there was a pump room around here somewhere.  Maybe it’s in the main basement.”

“We should check there, too,” Kate said, making a mental note to tell Gibbs as they made their way back up the stairs.

***

Curtis waited until the door at the top of the stairs closed again before allowing the sneeze that had been building since he’d crawled up on the highest shelf in darkest, dustiest corner of the room.  He batted a spider web out of his face before rolling over and dropping nimbly to the floor.

The police were closing in on him and he didn’t have a choice.  He’d tried to make a run for the fence but more cops were arriving by the minute, including a K-9 unit.  He needed a hostage and had a pretty good idea where Raphael had stashed Tony, and possibly Tim, too.

They had found the room together while looking for a place to hide that nosy Marine.  But now one of the enormous wine racks was in front of the door.  He grinned as he strained to move it because he knew he’d been right.  When he stopped to catch his breath, he saw the lock.

“Bah!” he muttered and went looking for something to bash it off with.

***

“Clear,” Gibbs said, coming out of the bathroom he’d just checked.

“No one under the beds,” Fornell replied.  “I’m gonna look in the closet.”

“You do that,” Gibbs agreed, stepping back out into the hall  “Hold it right there, dirt bag!” he shouted at the man in the hallway.  The guy looked up but slipped into the last room on the right anyway.  “Fornell,” Gibbs called but didn’t wait for him as he raced down the hall.

The door was locked but one quick kick below the knob sent it flying open.  “Freeze!” he yelled pointing his weapon at the man who seemed to be booting up the computer.

“I am Raphael Bejarano.”  He didn’t turn away from the computer.  “I am with Interpol.”

“I know who you are,” Gibbs growled.  “What did you do with my agents?”

“NCIS,” Raphael huffed.  “You’ve made things difficult for me.  My mission is more important than the lives of two people.”

“Not to me.”  Gibbs cocked the gun and leveled it at the back of Raphael’s head.  

The spy might not have seen the gun, but he definitely heard it.  His hands froze on the keyboard.  “You would shoot me?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Jethro,” Fornell warned nervously as he entered the room.  “Do the words ‘international incident’ mean anything to you?”

“One...” Gibbs counted.

“This is important!  I have to...”

“Two...”

“Fine.  Look in the wine cellar, there is a rack across the door at the end of the room, now please!” He turned to offer Gibbs the key but he was already disappearing out the broken door.

“Raphael?” Fornell moved forward with a mischievous grin.  “Gibbs’ people back-doored the system two days ago.  They broke the code last night.”

Raphael sputtered in disbelief.  “What did they find?”

“They foiled a plan to blow up the J. Edgar Hoover Building.  But thanks for all your help.  I’m sure you would have found it.  Eventually.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Curtis busted his knuckles a couple times as he beat the lock with a piece of wood he broke off a shelf.  The floor was littered with the remnants of the champagne magnum he had unwisely tried first.  But the stubborn padlock didn’t budge.  It didn’t even dent.  

In desperation he shoved the splintered end of the homemade club behind the hasp and used his own body weight to slowly pull the screws out of the rotting wood.  And wouldn’t Madam Fontaine be furious to find out she had termites in her foundation he thought.  

Finally the hinge side of the metal gave and left him lurching towards the door face first.  He grunted on impact then righted himself and shook off the blow before fighting with the doorknob.  He kicked open the door and wielded his club in bleeding hands.  

“What the hell is that?” he laughed as Tim pointed a hand puppet at him purposefully.

“Federal Agent.  Put it down, Curtis,” Tim warned him.  “Or should I call you Liam?”

“What are you going to do?” Curtis mocked without acknowledging his true identity.  “Hit me with your monkey?”

“His name is Gacy,” an unsteady voice said from the floor.

“Are you still alive? Curtis asked, casting a quick glance downward to make sure Tony wasn’t capable of any kind of attack.  He didn’t think so, the man was a mess.

“You know,” Tony continued as he rolled over and unsuccessfully tried to sit up, “Like John Wayne Gacy?”  He stopped to inhale and blow it back out before trying again, succeeding this time.  “One of the worst serial killers in American history?”  More labored breathing.  “The one who dressed up like a clown?”

“I seem to recall.”

“Silly looking on the outside...” huff, wheeze, then Tony fell back to the floor, “...deadly on the inside.  Shoot him, McGee.”

Curtis lunged for the stuffed animal but it exploded in all directions just as he felt a red-hot poker plunge into his chest.  He stumbled back, dropping his makeshift weapon before falling himself.  Someone kicked the wood shaft away but stepped over him and kept moving.

***

Tony felt he should have stayed awake for whatever happened after the big climatic... climax, but it proved too much trouble with all the extra breathing he was doing.  Besides, he really liked his floaty place.

“Laying down on the job, DiNozzo?”

“Hey boss,” Tony greeted without opening his eyes, hoping his voice was falling somewhere in the range of human hearing.  He was almost sure his lips were moving.  “Can I go home now?”

“Hospital first,” Gibbs told him as hands gently began to check him out.  Either Gibbs really _could_ read minds or the words were actually coming out of his mouth.  

“I can work with that,” Tony muttered.  At least he _thought_ it really, really hard.

“You okay, McGee?” he heard Gibbs ask but the hands never stopped their exploration of aching face, ribs and belly.

“I’m fine.”  Glad to hear it.  The Probie done good.

“The Paramedics are on the way down.”  And that was Kate.  “Ducky says Curtis is out but alive.  Oh God, is Tony okay?  Ducky!”  She dropped down by his side and took his hand.

He smiled even if his floaty place was getting crowded.

“Dear me.”   _Really_ crowded.

That was it, Tony had to look.  “I don’t actually _need_ a c...coroner, do I?” he asked as Ducky made his way into the room.  Palmer waved worriedly from the doorway.

“Better safe than sorry,” Ducky quipped as Tony managed a fingertip wave for the autopsy gremlin, grinning when it made him smile.  “Let’s have a look at you.”

“Gacy?” McGee asked dubiously as he knelt next to Gibbs who now had his hand firmly on Tony’s shoulder giving a reassuring squeeze every time Tony groaned.  Groan, squeeze.  Groan, squeeze.  Yep, it wasn’t Tony’s imagination.

Tony knew McGee was trying to get his mind off things so he played along.  “Don’t look at me,” he said with a wet cough and damn but the air going in and out his lungs suddenly seemed thick.  “Abby named him.”

“Oh. Oohhh.  Uh oh,” McGee amended, looking at the melted stuffing covering the gun.  Oh yeah, Abby was gonna kill him for blowing Gacy’s brains out.

“Uh oh is right,” Gibbs groused as he helped Ducky open Tony’s shirt.  “That’s _my_ back up weapon.”  If Gibbs left anything for her to kill.

Tony snickered but it quickly turned into a gasp followed by a series of gurgles.

Ducky cut the festivities short.  “Get one of the paramedics in here, now!”

***

Bump, bump, bump, bump, bump...

All of a sudden, things were very bright and his floaty place was far, far away.  He moved to shield his eyes but his hands wouldn’t move.  Bump, bump, bump... They were going down steps.  And there were words.  Lots and lots of words in a very familiar accent.  

“...don’t understand how _any_ agent could be so irresponsible.  I’d like a whack at the man myself.  With a Mashie-niblick!”

“What’s a Mashie... Gibblet?” Tony had to ask, picturing mashed potatoes and a small Gibbs.  Wow.  He was loopy but the pain wasn’t so bad now.  He was sitting bolt upright and strapped to a stretcher but he could _breathe_ damn it, and that was all that mattered.

“Niblick, niblick,” Ducky corrected, walking along beside him, bouncing in and out of Tony’s sight with each bump down.    “A niblick, my boy, is a _real_ golf club.”

“Doc, if it’s okay with you we’re gonna load the gunshot wound first since you’ve got this one stabilized,” an unfamiliar voice said from somewhere ahead of them as they finally neared the bottom.  

“Very well,” Ducky agreed magnanimously, leaving no doubt as to who was currently in charge of Tony’s care.

Tony couldn’t see who Ducky was talking to for the large fireman t-shirt blocking his view as the stretcher was bumped down one last step.  Those shoulders needed their own time zone.

“What’s going on?”

“You had a pneumothorax,” Jimmy’s voice explained cheerfully from the other side of the stretcher so Tony turned his head that way.  “A traumatic rupture of the chest wall from a broken rib caused the pleural space to fill with air and shift the mediastinum...”

“Your lung collapsed,” Ducky cut in.  “Honesty, Mister Palmer, sometimes you do go on.  Let’s stop here while they load that Irish scallywag.”

“Did you fix it?” Tony asked worriedly even though he realized he felt much better and could actually think straight at the moment.  Still, though... loopy.

“Doctor Mallard inserted a large bore IV needle below...”

“Yes,” Ducky interrupted again.  “I fixed it.  For now.  They’ll put in a chest tube when we reach Emergency.”

“That’s uh, the Emergency department,” Palmer translated.

“I got that, Jimmy.  Thanks.”

“Against the paramedic’s wishes I have given you some morphine.  In my opinion your head injury is limit to a mild concussion.  I believe the confusion and passing out...”

“DiNozzos do not pass out.”

“...was due to hypoxia.”

“Lack of oxygen to the brain.”  Jimmy couldn’t help himself.  “You were blue.”

“Anthony!”

“I’d recognize that screech anywhere,” Tony joked.  Huh.  He really did feel better.

“Let me... just, please!  Thank you.  Anthony!”  Elizabeth appeared next to Palmer, dragging a uniformed officer along with her.  “I can’t believe this!  I got home and there were policemen everywhere and then I found out... You!” she cried when she got a good look at Ducky.

“Now, now, my good woman,” Ducky warned, hovering over Tony protectively.  Or near anyway since the pumped-up stretcher reached the middle of Ducky’s chest.  “Calm yourself or I shall be forced to do something rash.”

“Careful, he swings a mean mashed Gibblet.”

“You said you weren’t a cop,” Elizabeth accused, turning her attention to Tony.

“I’m not, I’m a coroner,” Ducky told her proudly.

“Not you,” Elizabeth growled.  That earned her a dirty look from Palmer that made Tony snort with glee.

“Easy there, Bitsy,” Tony teased with a tiny snort-induced cough.  “Ow.  You have to watch your blood pressure at your age.”

The banter seemed to calm her down and she softened further when she took in Tony’s injuries.  “Look at you, darling.  You’ve got to learn to protect that pretty face.”

Tony grinned at her crookedly, squinting to see her better in the bright sunshine.  “I _told_ you I was a federal agent.  It’s not my fault you didn’t believe me.”

Elizabeth harrumphed.  “I’ll remember that whilst I’m rotting in jail.”

“Whilst?  Nobody says whilst.  Stick a crowbar in your pocketbook and hire a good lawyer,” Tony advised.  “I guarantee you’ll be out of jail before I’m out of the hospital.”

“What am I to do then, Anthony?” Elizabeth asked forlornly then stopped to think.  “It is really _is_ Anthony, isn’t it?”

“Just Tony.  And you retire.  There _is_ such a thing as enough.  Think of all the money you’ll save not having a houseful of little boys in men’s bodies.”

“But they were such nice bodies,” Elizabeth lamented.  She stretched up and placed a kiss on Tony’s cheek.

“Careful, don’t get any blood on that Christian Dior blouse.”

“We are a lot alike, you and I, Anthony.”

Tony started to laugh but thought better of it.  “I don’t think so.”

“We’re ready, Doc!”

“We’re both survivors.”  With that Elizabeth let the cop pull her to a waiting squad car.

“Let’s go,” Ducky ordered and the stretcher moved closer to the waiting ambulance.

McGee trotted up as they were loading him.  “We’re going to hand this over to the FBI,” he explained.  “I’ll see you at the hospital.”

“Wait, McGee, wait,” Tony called out before they could close the door.  “Don’t let them take my stuff into evidence.”

“Whoops,” McGee hissed.  

“Now _that_ hurts,” Tony complained as the fireman closed the doors from the outside.  Tony watched through the back window as the big guy slowly disappeared along with Ducky, Palmer, and McGee.

***

**Three Days Later**

Tony was bored out of his head but at least now he could have visitors.  He was hoping they would bring his lunch tray soon, praying it would have something solid on it or he was going to start eating the plants that had been arriving since they’d moved him into a private room earlier.

“Come in!  Please, dear God, come in,” Tony answered the knock on his door as he raised the bed to its fully upright position.

“Hey, look at you,” Kate greeted as she entered.  “It’s about time they moved you out of ICU.  They wouldn’t let anyone but Ducky and Gibbs in to see you.”

Tony laughed.  “That’s because Ducky claimed he was my private physician and Gibbs flashed his badge and threatened people.”

“Sounds about right.  How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Tony insisted.  “I just need a couple Tylenol and a few days on the couch and I’ll be back to normal.  They want to keep me for the rest of the week.  Can you believe that?”

“Well, gee Tony, let me think.  You’ve got three broken ribs, a tear in your esophagus...”

“A teensy, tiny tear that’s almost completely healed.”

“A collapsed lung...”

“Which they fixed, thank you very much.  They took that freaking tube out yesterday.”

“A second-degree liver laceration,” Kate continued over the interruption.  “Oh, and a concussion.  Considering the hardness of _your_ head, I’d say that’s worth hanging around the hospital for a few more days.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tony grumbled again.  They both looked up as the door opened a crack and McGee snuck a peek before entering with a cup and a bag from Burger King.

Tony’s eyes lit up as he accepted it.  “McGee, you are the best!  New Suit?”

“Yeah, since Suitably Impressed is having a going out of business sale I thought I’d check it out.”

“Is he supposed to have that?” Kate questioned, snatching the bag out of Tony’s hand.

“Hey!   _He_ is right here.  And he is hungry for something besides Jell-o.”

“He’s been upgraded from full liquid to diet as tolerated,” McGee informed Kate, handing Tony the cup.  “I checked.”

“And he’s tolerating a double Whopper and fries?  I don’t think so.” She sat the bag on the sink, far out of Tony’s reach.  “What’s that?” she asked, reaching for the cup.

“Chocolate milkshake,” Tony muttered, twisting away and shielding the drink with his body.  “Ow.”

“Stop,” Kate quickly gave in.  “I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.  I guess it’s okay, it’s got milk in it.  I think.”

“The food police, alive and well,” Tony grumbled darkly before turning to McGee.  “What else did they have at S.I.?”

“Well,” McGee began with a self-satisfied grin.  “They had everything the tailor had been working on for you in the back room.  And since Agatha put you at the top of the list, naturally, he was done with most of it.”

“Yeah?”

“I had Emma hold it for you.  You can pick it up later for a song.”

“I think I’m going to kiss you, again.”

“As much as I’d like to see that,” Kate said, “You can’t accept that kind of gift.”

“It’s not a gift if I’m paying for it,” Tony pointed out.  “Besides, those FBI bastards confiscated nearly everything in my wardrobe.  I’m practically shoeless.  I’m Shoeless Anthony DiNozzo which doesn’t have much of a ring to it.”

The door opened again and Gibbs came in followed by Fornell.

“Speaking of FBI bastards,” Tony mumbled under his breath while Kate and McGee tried to disappear.

“Here’s your makeup case, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said as he handed over Tony’s leather bag and eyed his truant agents.  “McGee managed to convince the FBI it was your personal property and not evidence.”

“Seriously, you’re getting kissed,” Tony warned McGee, shaking a finger at him.  “I thought I’d lost you forever,” he cooed to the toiletry bag as he cuddled it.

“I thought his head injury was better?” Gibbs asked McGee who merely shrugged.

“DiNutso.”

“Fornell.”

“I hear you’re going home in a couple of days.”

“Three or four,” Tony corrected.  “That’s what they tell me anyway.”

Gibbs and Fornell exchanged an amused glance and Gibbs motioned for Fornell to continue.

“It’s been brought to my attention that some of your injuries might not have been so severe had you had prompt medical attention.”

“Who brought it?”

“What?”

“Who brought it to your attention?  Gibbs?  Ducky?”

“Oh.  Miss Sciuto keeps reminding me that one of my agents wasn’t paying attention at the time of your attack.”

“Oh yeah.  Junior.  Abby might have mentioned that when she snuck in last... never mind.”

“Were you wearing your wire, DiNozzo?” Gibbs asked.

“Well, no,” Tony admitted.  “Elizabeth came in before I could put it on and I didn’t go back and get it later.  I couldn’t wear to one in the watch because… where is the Rolex anyway?” he asked, checking Fornell’s wrist suspiciously.’

“It’s in evidence,” Fornell assured with a glare.

“Um hum,” Tony grumbled.  “Anyway, I’m sure Junior got pretty tired of listening to dead air.”

“That’s no excuse,” Fornell said.  “We’re gonna have to teach him a lesson.  The way we see it, this could be a valuable learning experience all around.  Since you are being stalked by a dangerous ex-employee of Elizabeth Fontaine’s...”

“What?  Who?”

“A mister Gene Smyth has attempted to gain access to your hospital room on three separate occasions since you’ve been here.”

“Uh, its Jeanette Smith, and she just came to visit.  They didn’t let her in while I was in ICU but I saw her in here this morning.  She brought me magazines.”

“And candy,” McGee piped up.  “And fruit.  And flowers.”

Tony eyed the Probie suspiciously.  “You spying on me, McGee?”

“Oh, and a slightly used bottle of Percodan.”

“Yeah, but the nurse confiscated those.  Oh, and Jeanette brought me some really nice pajamas Nurse Ratchet won’t let me wear yet.  They’re really soft…”

“Tired of your gown already, DiNozzo?” Gibbs teased.

“Yeah, but what I was saying, Jeanette didn’t do anything wrong.  She’s not even being charged with anything.  All that crap on her computer was put there by Curtis,” Tony explained.  “Including the expensive security system.  She hadn’t turned the thing on in weeks.  The only thing she had on it was a bunch of research on a very special surgical procedure and travel guides to Bangkok.”

“She tell you that?” Fornell queried.

“Uh, no...”

“Abby,” Gibbs guessed when McGee shook his head vigorously in denial.

“Can I finish?” Fornell asked impatiently then kept right on talking before they could get sidetracked again.  “Since you are being stalked, we thought it prudent to provide an around the clock guard for the rest of your hospital stay.”

Tony sighed and leaned back against his pillows.  “Who’s really being punished here, him or me?”

“You’re right, he is quick,” Fornell said to Gibbs.  “Come on, DiNutso, I understand you are uniquely qualified for this mission.”

Sipping his milkshake, Tony took a moment to contemplate.  He _was_ bored after all.  A project might be just the thing to keep him occupied.  Do you want him to quit or just burst into tears every time somebody mentions NCIS?”

“Hell, _I_ do that,” Fornell laughed.  “Just toughen him up a little.”

“All right, send him over.  Just don’t tell him Jeanette is on her way to Bangkok for a little nip and tuck since you guys shut down her store.  Or a lot of snip, actually...” Tony suppressed a full body shiver at the thought.

The door burst open and a dozen black balloons were shoved through it.  “I can’t stay long, I think Gibbs might be on to my little hospital excursions...” Abby started before the balloons drifted to the ends of their strings, high enough for her to see her audience.  “Hi, Gibbs.”

“That’s it, everybody back to work,” Gibbs ordered, opening the door to herd them out.  

Fornell went first without another word.  Kate kissed Tony on the cheek.  “Do you need me to bring you anything?  A book maybe?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Tony told her, waving as she left.

“I just got here,” Abby pouted, tying the balloons to a chair.

“We’ve got work to do, Abs.  You can come back later.”

“Okay,” Abby agreed but drug her feet as she kissed Tony’s other cheek.  “I’ll be back in an hour,” she whispered in his ear.

“No she won’t,” Gibbs said motioning her to hurry up.  “The job doesn’t stop because DiNozzo’s taking an unauthorized vacation.”

“Okay, two,” Abby promised, giving Gibbs a dose of puppy-dog eyes on the way out the door.  Gibbs rolled his eyes but didn’t object.  “Come on, Monkey Killer.”

“Hey, McGee,” Tony said before the probie got too far.  “If I didn’t say it...”

“I know how much you like it,” McGee replied, pointing to the toiletry bag in Tony’s lap at the raised eyebrows all around.

“I said that out loud?  What else did I say?  Maybe I don’t want to know,” Tony hedged.  “But did I say thanks for saving my life?”

McGee turned red and shrugged.  

“How about I trust you, too?”

“I hate to break up this tea party,” Gibbs drawled, checking his watch.

“We’ll talk later,” Tony told McGee as he offered his hand.  “Over a beer.”

“Okay,” McGee agreed, accepting the handshake before walking out the door.

“Since when does Interpol conduct investigations on American soil?” Tony asked Gibbs when the door was closed again.

“They don’t,” Gibbs confirmed as he came closer.

“Which super-secret agency was Raphael really working for?”

“Does it matter?”

“You don’t know either, do you?” Tony narrowed his eyes but Gibbs was as inscrutable as ever.  “Did he at least tell us what really happened?”

Gibbs nodded.  “Here’s the Reader’s Digest version:  Edmunds realized something wasn’t adding up with Curtis so he started watching him.  When he followed him into Smith’s room Curtis hid in the closet and attacked him with a handy shoe.  Raphael, who was also watching, helped him dispose of the body and clean up the mess to form a bond with him and keep his cover.  If you ask me, he’s as big a piece of crap as Curtis.”

“Yeah.  But I guess at heart Edmunds really was a Marine,” Tony said.

“Semper Fi,” Gibbs agreed solemnly.  He grabbed the bag of food off the sink and plopped it in Tony’s lap.  “Chew this, don’t wolf it down.  If you rip open your esophagus again I’ll rip you a new one.”

“Yes, Boss!” Tony agreed, tearing into the bag enthusiastically.

***

They started off on the wrong foot when Fornell’s boy entered Tony’s room without knocking.  Tony pursed his lips as he considered him.  Young, good-looking, a chip on his shoulder the size of Washington.  State, not D.C.

An evil smile spread across Tony’s face.  “Hello, _Junior_ ...”

 

The End

 

 


End file.
